Let’s face it, the process of becoming an author nowadays is time-consuming, no doubt. No longer can you simply sneak off to London like Charlotte Bronte and drop your quill-penned manuscript at the publisher’s. No, you must build a platform, be blogging, Google-Plussing, Facebooking, Twittering.
Of course, part of what makes it so time-consuming is that one must learn the technology first. And this technology is a shape-shifting beast; no sooner does one master Facebook or Pinterest than a new form emerges. It’s enough to make you curse Steve Jobs and all his cohorts.
Age is, admittedly, a factor for me personally. I’m no spring chicken, and technology is akin to swimming in this sense—you need to be thrown into the pool at the age of one, not 50-plus. If it’s a sink or swim contest, I suggest you put your money on the one-year-old.
But hey! I’m trying, and all the while I’m not losing sight of what I’m really here for, to write, bring up what lies at the core, express all those ideas and themes that have been expressed since there was papyrus to scratch on, only in my own manner, style, with my own words. Because there are no new ideas in the world, only new people wrestling with them. And the beauty is in the wrestling.