Some people seem destined to work against their own best interests. I seem to be one of them. If there’s any possible way to go against the flow of what’s acceptable and necessary, I’ll find it. I’m genetically contrary and no matter how hard I try to suppress it, my oppositional side will out, sooner or later.
Be an indie author without Amazon and its 800 pound gorilla, the Kindle? You might just as well not bother writing. But that’s the road I intend to walk.
Refuse to be a part of the big, important social networking sites? You might just as well find the potion that turns you invisible and knock back a big draught because you will remain in obscurity for the rest of your life and your burial-place will be unknown.
I just deleted my Twitter account. I tried Facebook some time back, and after barfing my way through its sheer ugliness and forced friendliness, I deleted that account. I’ve tried most of the methods for building my “platform,” otherwise known as pimping yourself out so that when you’re finally in a position to start making money, people will rush to give it to you. If there’s one lesson I’ve taken away from all this, it’s that I’m not sufficiently motivated by the promise of fame or riches (or even a measly pittance to buy food) to persist in doing things that I wouldn’t consider doing for any other reason.
My writing is my platform. If it isn’t good enough to attract readers, then the hell with it.