I opened the door Saturday morning to a packet on the doorstep from my publisher. As I opened the packet, at first I was excited—there was the spring catalog with my book in it! As I read the accompanying letter, though, I drooped.
In addition to having a website (which I had paid someone to do because I couldn't get past the first paragraph in the book which claimed even Dummies could do it) and a blog (which I did do myself, and it looks like it – can't figure out how to put pictures on or reformat my entries which look fine on Word and sprawl messily when they post) the publisher suggested that I Tweet and use Facebook. I have strongly resisted the latter two. I don't even have a cell phone. If 18th-century people survived waiting six months waiting for a reply to a letter to family in England, why do I need a cell phone? I don't want to go back to the Jane Austen pre-word processing days and learn to sharpen quill pens, but uff da!
I see more and more references to Facebook, though. Sometimes I can't even get where I want to go without Google and Facebook accounts. I feel like a whiny kid: "Do I hafta?" Maybe I do.
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