I have been told that one must have a 'platform' if one wants to be published and if one wishes to sell novels, memoirs, magazine articles, and poetry.
However, for the past few years it has been impossible for me to wear the newest foot fashion — platform heels. I can't even manage the straw low-platform variety.
I use trekking poles when I wander around the wilderness of the real world and keep close at hand a strong forearm attached usually to a handsome younger male person when wandering around the wilderness of malls, theatres, dinner houses, and city walkways.
Of course, I do realize the 'they' who contend that a 'platform' is a necessary accoutrement to life in the fast lane of publishing are not referring to one's footwear, but to the public awareness of one's existence.
At the same time, I am also incredibly aware of my resistance to following rules set by those whom I have not been given the opportunity to vote into office - even non-political office (as if such an office exists in the world anymore). I am an outlier, one of those persistent folks who believe that the rules are made for somebody else - certainly they have nothing to do with me.
On the other hand, I do need to find an agent, a publisher, an audience for my work or I may end up another Emily, with shoeboxes (read that cds) full of words words words that no one reads until after I die. I don't compare myself to Ms Dickinson, by the way. I just compare my circumstance with hers although my father died long ago and I'm a lousy housekeeper and I live in North Dakota.
And so—in an attempt to create a 'platform', I am changing the name of my blog and inviting those wondering what this novelist is all about to join me here for a regular commentary mostly on writing. I do hope those of you who have been regular readers will understand and those of you who may have stopped by for the first time, will bear with the process and find something of interest.