Brand Me, Baby

The thing I feared has come to pass. No one is reading this blog, and without readership/feedback/interaction it becomes an online journal where I quietly process my writing adventures. I began with the idea of connecting with readers, but perhaps I’ll get some much-needed self therapy, instead. For writers, insanity is a predisposing factor, exacerbated by the job.

Which introduces today’s post, if in somewhat rambling fashion. (Talkin’ to myself, remember? Who cares how much I ramble? Shut up.) In terms of connecting with readers, newly published authors are advised to establish their author “brand”. Several things here, so hold your breath, kids, we’re goin’ in.

First, “brand” appears to be the current hot marketing buzzword. I friggin’ hate buzzwords. After seven years in the non-profit sector, constantly hassled by state, federal and other funding agencies to use the proper buzzwords in grant and report writing, buzzwords make my skin crawl. What’s wrong with variety? For craps’s sake, people, we’re selling creative command of language! Hmmph.

‘Nother thing. I’m from Texas. Y’all say “brand” around me, and I get visions of being tied up and held down by sweaty, dusty men, wielding red hot irons. Now, I don’t mind the sweaty dusty men, and in some very specific circumstances might even experiment with letting them hold me down and tie me up, but hot irons do nothing for me. I’m sure they’re exciting for some folks, but that association just makes me want to run away, far and fast.

All of which is to say: I am reluctant to be branded. I have commitment issues anyway; why should this differ? I don’t want to be known as a contemporary, historical, paranormal or mainstream author, who does whatever-all-my-stories-in-those-genres-have-in-common, or whose characters have whatever qualities I can’t appear to avoid.

Yes, there is an argument for letting readers know what to expect: likeable characters, great descriptions, angsty villains, snarky heroines, what have you. But when I analyze my craft too deeply it disappears. Really. I suspect that, like me, my writing doesn’t want to be pigeonholed or even relied on to deliver much of anything. When I start trying to define it, it simply goes away. If I concentrate on branding, I’m not writing anymore. If I’m not writing I’m not a writer; if I don’t write I don’t publish. If I’m not published I’m not an author….I’m the looney chick in the corner, mumbling to myself. Somewhat like this blog.

At bottom, I don’t want to let perceptions box me in. I write what I like because I like it, because it calls to me and lives inside my head, demanding release into the world. That’s it. Not because it fits a brand or a definition or anyone else’s idea of what’s popular or hot or “good”. Don’t get me started on “good”.

But if the world insists on a brand, here goes: I write in multiple genres. Most of my stories will feature some form of romance, although not everyone will consider all of them romantic. They generally challenge authority in some form.

There you go. That’s it. I’m bouncing around, thumbing my nose through smudged, rose colored glasses.

Come to think of it, that’s pretty accurate: ADD, commitment issues and internal conflict, through and through.

And the random question for the day:

Do you believe that forks are evolved from spoons?

Nope. Look at the shape. They clearly evolved from fingers. Spoons evolved from palms.