My kids are growing up in a brave new world dominated by social media.
Me, I’m still trying to figure out what this whole hash-tag thing is about. Until recently I didn’t have a Twitter account. And when I first opened a Facebook account at the urging of friends and family, it was simply to post: ""If you want to communicate with me, pick up the phone or stop by. Because I don't do Facebook.""
But the virtual world just wouldn’t go away. Friends kept bugging me to check out their Pinterest pages. Or Instagram posts. Email is passé, they said. IM—what’s that? You can still text, but what you really need is photos, videos, check-ins. Right. Do these people not know about all the criminals out there, monitoring FB and Tumblr and Meetup to know when you’re not at home so they can burglarize your empty house?!?
Alas, I am alone in my paranoia. And truth to tell, some of my reluctance to join the digital revolution is fueled by the fact that I am an idiot when it comes to computers. I never quite got over the trauma of having to learn how to program in FORTRAN. (For those of you who were born into a world of smartphones and swipe-screens, FORTRAN is a long-dead computer language from post-IBM, pre-Apple days. It’s what Latin is to the Romance languages that grew out of it. Do they even teach Latin in public school anymore?)
What’s more, I actually like communicating the old fashioned way. I enjoy talking with people face to face. And I especially love writing letters long-hand, putting them in an envelope, sticking on a stamp, and dropping them off at the corner post-office. I grew up reading volumes of correspondence between Zelda and F. Scott Fitzgerald (sigh!), Vita Sackville-West and Virginia Woolf, Shelby Foote and Walker Percy. Really, how can Twitter or Facebook compare with that?
In quantum physics, there is the law: “like attracts like.” This principle applies to relationships, too.
We self-select our social network—both online and in the real world. As a result, I am marooned on an island of similar-minded Luddites. In our world, “going viral” still refers to a constellation of symptoms including fever, cough, and congestion.
So, until my kids are old enough to clue me in, I will likely remain a social networking illiterate. I will not be plugging my books on a bazillion-and-one online sites. I will continue writing slowly, laboriously, in longhand (at least sometimes). And I hope that the content of what I write will be interesting enough to sell a few books.
How do you use social media in promoting your books?
Contributed by MFRW author Jill Blake.
A native of Philadelphia, Jill Blake now lives in southern California with her husband and three children. By day, she works as a physician in a busy medical practice. By night, she pens steamy romances.
blog ~ http://jillblake.blogspot.com/
twitter ~ https://twitter.com/Jill_Blake_
Google+ ~ https://plus.google.com/u/0/+JillBlake/posts
FB ~ https://www.facebook.com/jill.blake.3386
Amazon ~ http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B00B1ZIHKS
Goodreads ~ https://goodreads.com/author/show/6899971.Jill_Blake
Jill Blake's newest release is Sweet Indulgence (The Silicon Beach Trilogy, Book 2).
BUY LINK - Free on Kindle Unlimited!
Becca Markham spent the last six years trying to please everyone else. Now it’s her turn. She ditches her cheating boyfriend, quits her high-stress job as a software engineer, and decides to transform her life-long love of baking from a part-time hobby into a full-time business.Leo Kogan spent years scrambling to escape a life of poverty. Now a successful surgeon, he needs just one thing to complete his American dream: the perfect woman. But making the leap from casual friends to lovers proves harder than he expects.
Despite a sizzling attraction, Becca and Leo don’t have much in common. Especially when it comes to love and money. She’s looking for sex without strings; he wants a partner for life. She stakes her future on a risky new business; he’s obsessed with financial security.
EXCERPT
The drive to El Segundo took thirty minutes on a good day. Despite the fact that it was Sunday evening, this was not a good day. A big-rig accident snarled traffic for miles on the 405 South, giving Leo plenty of time to think.
He glanced at Max from the corner of his eye. “You think Eva might consider coming to next week’s game? Maybe with a friend?”
Max looked up from his phone, where he’d been scrolling through messages. “You want my wife to set you up?”
“No,” Leo said. “Not exactly.”
“Okay, then, what exactly do you want Eva to do?”
“Bring Becca to next week’s game.”
Max burst out laughing.
“Never mind,” Leo gritted his teeth. “Forget I said anything.”
“No, no—” Max managed to get his mirth under control. “By all means, let’s pretend we’re in middle school. You ask your friend—that would be me—to ask Becca’s friend—a.k.a. Eva—if Becca likes you. Am I following?”
“Sometimes you can be such an asshole,” Leo muttered.
“Hey, I’m not the one who’s having trouble asking the girl out.”
“It’s not that simple.” Leo paused a moment to switch lanes. “You know John Hunter?”
“He’s the shoulder guy in your group, right? The one who keeps hitting on all the ER nurses whenever he’s on panel call.”
“Yeah. Becca’s been dating him for the last six years.”
“No shit.” Max winced. “Sorry. I didn’t know.”
“It’s over.” Leo hit the brakes as the car in front abruptly stopped. “Finally.”
Max studied him in the fading evening light. “Six years is a long time.”
“Believe me,” Leo said. “I know.”
“Fuck. Don’t tell me you’ve been carrying the torch for her all this time.”
“I only moved here four years ago.”
“But you’ve dated other women,” Max said. “Haven’t you? I mean, it’s not like you’ve gone four years without…”
“I’ve dated,” Leo said.
“Good. Glad to hear it. Carpal tunnel can be a drag, especially for a surgeon.”
Leo grunted. “Did I mention you’re an asshole?”
Max waved that away. “I’ll talk with Eva tonight.”
“Thanks. I owe you one.”
“I’m not promising anything. Becca still has to say yes.”
Traffic started flowing again. Leo pressed on the gas. “I’m optimistic.”
“Four years,” Max said, shaking his head. “I guess you’d have to be. Shit. Welcome back to the seventh grade.”
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