Quick Announcement: As of today, my podcast should be on Spotify. It might need some edits over the next few days, but if you’re interested in listening and putting up with some imperfections, please give it a listen.
Hello and welcome to another conversation with Scott. The topic of this week… marketing myself. I went to college for marketing, and what I learned while I was there is that there is an infinite number of ways to get your name out there. You can use the various forms of social media, try to make a brand or product that people will learn who you are through or whatever else people can figure out. As of recent, my mentality has been to focus on improving my work and be consistent with content, but I can’t figure out if that’s actually doing anyhing for me.
Being consistent with content is great! Put work out three times a week and make sure that the content is what I want it to be. If I’m not feeling particularly interested in writing about suicide or some other depressed topic, I write about something else. I’ll write about some of my other passions and hope that something sticks. Maybe, if I’m lucky, someone will come for the completely different topic and stay because they relate to my personal writing. It’s just strange to see the lack of new views and followers.
I’m new to blogs and to tell you the truth, I think social media is a bit of a drain on society so I’m not super present there. My thought was, if I create a blog to try and get feedback on my smaller work and experiment, while pushing forward on work that has a more appropriate avenue for success (my book, business and/or games), then maybe the success of one will lead to the success of the other.
Today, I applied to an agent who seemed to say that his only reason for taking on a new client was if they had already developed a platform for themselves… and I basically did a double-take. I thought what I was doing, which is slow, organic growth through constant engagement, was the right thing to do until I found a more mainstream way to reach success, such as publishing a book. I’m just confused. I don’t really know how to take the next step in finding a broader audience. Really, it’s not too big a deal. I’m still interested in publishing a book and that’s my main goal right now, but if I don’t have enough of a following for an agent to see it as profitable, then… what next?
I thought I’d give a small update on one of my projects. I’ve been putting together a compilation of all of the shorts that I’ve been writing and now that I have 100 that I’m comfortable putting under one cover, I’ll be putting them up on the Amazon eBook store soon. I don’t have a specific timeline but it will happen whenever I get art for the cover, edit and format everything to what it needs to be. I’m excited and I hope you will be too when it comes out. I’ll keep everyone posted with updates on the projects. I know I’ve been using this as a medium to get my work out there for free, but if you really like what I make, then there are a few exclusive pieces that will only be in the book that you can read.
I’ll announce the title in coming weeks, but until then, I hope you enjoy the work that I’ve been putting up here.
P.S. – I’m the one on the right in the picture below.
“Reading this one gave me a pretty good understanding of what it feels like to have a stroke.” – Kyle
Do you hear the sounds? The way the orchestra plays in the back of your mind is like a train smashing into the side of your car. The way the notes tickle your inner ear, making you dizzy to the point of nausea. It’s trying to tell me something, but I can’t figure out what.
The piano is thumping, and the keys of the drums are ringing. I can hear the way that the bass drum thuds on the strings. My violin sounds like a flute and the trumpet sounds like an oboe. I don’t know what it means but the confusion feels like ecstasy. The way the dancers sing, and the choirs slide around the ballroom. It all makes sense but it’s all so wrong.
Climb to see higher and understand the room. The room is on fire, but the furnace is an icebox. The freezer is a chair and the meats are on the sofa. People are ablaze, but the pool is full of snow. The oil below is lit but water spews like a geyser. The trombonist is in a bathrobe while the Tibetan monk is in the shower. Nothing makes sense except for a dollar, but my wallet is full of kittens, not currency.
The meat stands from the sofas and dances with the monks. The steps keep going on and on, ever reaching and fruitful. The banister’s are carrots and the stairs are hermit crabs. The room is confusing and the writing on the walls is moving like ants. The words move to spell out what you’re thinking, but you don’t understand your own thoughts. The bass drum play’s Clare de Lune and the piano plays a jazzy hi-hat.
The stairs disappear but they still exist. Nothing is true, but all is accurate. I step higher until the beauty rips me down from my pedestal. I am the flower while the petals are the confused. They fall one at a time. They love me. They love me not. They love me. They love me not. They love me. The money in my wallet purrs like a jet plane’s engine and the kittens play with the dancing choirs which were nothing but yarn.
Shout out to all of the people who have read, liked, commented on and followed my blog.
Special shout out to odylicious, the creator of bookzone (https://bookblog200.wordpress.com/), since they are, as far as I know, the first person who I haven’t met who is a regular to this blog.
I just think that having reached out to even one person is awesome and I’m pretty pumped. So thank you for your support as I keep posting more and more of my heart, mind and soul on here.
I didn’t have any plans when I started writing this. I just decided that I wanted to write something and began. But lo and behold, that’s the beauty of writing. Nothing that I write has any meaning until I decide to write it, regardless of whether I give it meaning or not. Quite frankly, I don’t even know if that makes sense, but I said it, therefore, giving it sense.
One paragraph in and I’m sure the absurd content of this writing has already made you forget about the totally nonsensical title that began it. When I first started writing, the title was “Symphony of Death”, but I thought that that was too interesting to not make its own thing, so now it’s “Fleet of Downward Ships”. It doesn’t mean anything. It’s just a title.
This piece really doesn’t have any significance, does it? It’s interesting because I’ve said nothing memorable, but that makes this inherently memorable. But you’ll think to yourself, with or without this upcoming thought, that you won’t ever actually think about this again, but this is the kind of piece that you will think about at a random time when you’re reading something with more impact and punch, giving this potentially more significance than the other thing that you’re reading, because the thought of this while reading something else gives this more impact than the thing you were already reading.
That doesn’t make a goddamned bit of sense. It’s hilarious in a way, because as you read this, you think it’s stupid. You think you just wasted your time, but all the while, you’re still here. You’re still reading my work. And my work will be what makes you come back for more.
So, as with the Fleet of Downward Ships, this ends with no point, no purpose and no impact, but doesn’t that give it all the purpose that it needs?