I joined Facebook (And May Need Therapy for it)

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I took the leap and joined Facebook. Don't bother linking there to see my page unless you're already a member--you won't be able to see it.

I'm feeling ambivalent about my membership. I keep hearing through writers groups and web sites that as an author I "must" have a page on Facebook. I "must" create a presence in an arena that draws 65 million. Fine. That part makes sense. Out of 65 million, there's got to be a cat lover or two out there who would like to buy my book.

But like everything online, you can't just pop a page up and expect people to show. You have to make the time to create an interesting, readable page that draws people in and keeps them coming back. You have to search out friends and list them on your page to prove to the world that you are, indeed, capable of attracting and retaining friends. You have to add photos, new content, and check in frequently.

Blah, blah, blah.

I am what is known as a "late adapter." Or rather, a reluctant late adapter. I'll eventually embrace a new technology, but I am going to bitch and complain the entire time I do.  And so it is with Facebook. I posted a profile and slapped my picture up there. I listed some books and movies I like. Now what? I have to search out high school friends I've ignored for 20 years and say, "Hey, want to best buds and link to my page?" Yech.

At times like this, I long to be my friend Melody who adores exploring all things new, fun, and web-related.  She wouldn't collapse sobbing over her computer after 20 minutes spent attempting to figure out how to set up a business page on the site. She wouldn't curse the man-children who came up with this site in the first place.  And she would possess an attitude of positive open mindedness that she would soon not only grasp but enjoy said technology.

I am not Melody.

But my page is up and that is progress. I will wait a few days before I log back on and once again attempt to figure out how to set up a page that sends people to my Lessons In Stalking website. Because, to be frank, I'm in this to sell books, not make friends. (I have enough trouble keeping up with the remaining 8 people out there still willing to associate with me on a semi-regular basis. Hand me 50 online friends and I will lose it.)

I may have to lighten up. Melody is already on Facebook and at lunch the other day she was explaining to me the "Poke" feature. If you want to say hi to someone you "poke" them online. I looked coldly at her. "There will be no poking in our Facebook relationship," I said. "One poke, and you are banned from the friendship list for life."

I think I'd do better to just send out postcards. More my speed, dont'cha think?

American Idol for the Soul, 3rd Printing

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This entry goes under the category of "fun stuff." Today I received an e-mail from the Chicken Soup for the American Idol Soul editor announcing that the book is selling so well that it's going into its third printing. She asked all contributors to please let her know by Monday if we need to update our back of book bios. She included a specific message to Sanjaya, noting that his website information wasn't current.

The e-mail is sent to a suppressed recipient list, but it's fun knowing I'm receiving the same e-mail as Carrie Underwood, Ruben Studdard, Nigel Lythgoe, Jordin Sparks, etc.

Big time, baby.

My Favorite Phone Call

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Blair works for Hanesbrands and he never calls me from work. We're just not the kind of couple who chit-chats during the day. Work is work, and we'll see each other when we're home.

Which is why I was curious, yesterday, when I left a meeting and turned my cell phone on to see that I had a message waiting from Blair's work number. I punched in my voicemail code and listened to his message. His first words, delivered in a tight, tense tone, sent a shot of fear down my spine.

"Hey. Huh--you're not there. I need you to call me at the office just as soon as you get this message."

Layoffs? Sick relative? Worry raced through my mind. Why would he be calling? Then came the follow-up sentence.

"They're giving away wedgie-free panties and I'm not sure what cut or color to get you. So... call me."

Wedgie free panties? Wedgie FREE panties?? I almost crashed the car, I was laughing so hard.

I do so love that husband of mine.