I seem to have developed that worst of afflictions, resistance to my own blog. In an era when mastery of social media is an obligatory art, I find myself willing to do almost anything except blog. Foolishly, I gave myself three hungry blogs to feed and maintain. This gives me that much more to resist, neglect, and feel guilty about.
Underlying my resistance to spending time in this fashion is my belief that no one really cares. I know the writer/agent/editor axis holds that building a platform is the end-all-be-all to sales. But I question the reliability of this assumption. I question it because I myself do not seek online contact with the authors of the books I read. I don't have time. I barely have time to read their books. And there's nothing more I want from them apart from the pleasure of reading their work.
I follow any number of wonderful writers on Twitter, each of whom slavishly maintains a blog. But do I read them? No. I can't possibly. And they don't read mine, either. They're too busy writing. Which is as it should be.
