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Author Platform: How To Leverage The Digital Media.

After going through a Twitter exchange between some experienced and published writers on the above topic, I did a little research and decided to pen down a few tips. According to masterclass.com an Author Platform can be defined as a writer’s ability to market their work, using their overall visibility to reach a target audience of potential readers. A writer’s platform might include the reach of their social media accounts, the connections they have with other published authors or literary influencers, and the writer’s relationship with media outlets.  This concept is not entirely new but because it is increasingly important in a writer’s career, many think of it as new. Question: What important thing about book publishing should most readers and aspiring authors strive to understand? Most readers and aspiring authors should endeavour to understand that; An author’s platform size is often of greater importance than the author’s writing quality. As unpleasant as that may sound, it is the truth for the world currently we live in. However, it must be pointed out that this is largely from the traditional publishing perspective. Electronic media really revolutionized the way we do everything including writing and publishing. Yet, traditional publishers will always assess the size and elements that make up an author’s platform as well as the product when considering new authors. The reason isn’t far-fetched. It’s still a business at the end of the day so the unknown guy with a masterpiece will likely be snubbed for a B-list celeb who already has a reality TV show or an OAP with a few hundred thousand social media followers. Oh yea, it is what it is. We have read about how best-selling works got rejected. This isn’t rocket science, it is simply because oftentimes rejections are not about how good your book is, or whether it should even be published. Rather it’s about editorial boards weighing the profitability of investing in that venture. So the question begs; what platform size should a would-be author establish before writing/publishing a book? Well, there may not be a unanimous agreement on platform size, but the dominant perception is that the more fans and followers you have on social networks, the higher likelihood you have of actually selling something. This is understandable as it has always been the popular maxim in marketing. However, this perception may just be another example of “the million follower fallacy” as things are not really that straightforward, especially with regard to selling books. In 2009, researchers showed that large numbers of followers on social networks did not always equate to “influence,” or sales. They suggested that greater influence is often associated with social networkers whose: status updates got shared mentions were greater The researchers concluded that “influence is not gained spontaneously or accidentally but through concerted effort. In order to gain and maintain influence, users need to keep great personal involvement.” Take note that this means you need to work tenaciously at building a platform. There are no shortcuts but then with the right information combined with working smartly, you can reduce the workload and duration for achieving a sizeable platform. Digital media offers a workable pathway. With an aggressive strategy and the right promotion plan, you can quickly build a growing audience to overcome the author platform problem. Many social media apps especially Twitter can be utilized for this and you can take a look here to get an idea of the steps that will help you build an active followership/author platform. You can also check here to become successful in creating worthwhile content. There are many other resources that will help you build your platform as a writer or creator, however, to become a brand you will need; Consistency: Bestselling author and writing coach Julia Cameron recommends two simple tools. Morning Pages and Artist Dates, you will do well to look them up. Cooperation: Sharing and posting stuff, especially your own content is good but it is even better when you engage your readers/followers as you would do in a cafe. Yes, the internet is now the public sphere so you don’t just want to be heard, you also need to listen. That way you work together as a team towards meeting various targets. So an author’s platform is like a vehicle that will convey you to that destination where publishers will agree that you will be a worthwhile investment, that your work will likely sell thousands of copies. And that is why you need to keep growing your platform, one day at a time.

Creative Essays, Writers

Bequeathed by Bismarck Faola.

  My heart fluttered like the wings of a nightingale as I entered the taxi that the chauffeur holding a placard with my name boldly written on it. I had just arrived McCarran International Airport, Las Vegas. It was my first trip out of Nigeria, my first trip by air, my first… so many “firsts”. I had won the Terry Goodkind “Know Your Author” challenge on Facebook. There had been thousands of contestants from all over the globe and it had, indeed, been a very tough battle but my endless hours of reading his novels and drooling over his Wikipedia page paid off. My prize was an all-expense-paid trip to spend the weekend with  Terry Goodkind – one of the greatest authors to ever walk the face of this terrestrial ball. The taxi pulled up in front of a blue-painted bungalow.  The scent of the myriad of flowers bordering the well-mown lawn made my nostrils dance with excitement. I got my luggage out of the car and took a deep breath of the fresh air. A part of me didn’t want to return home, I felt like I belonged to this serene environment. I walked up to the door where an attendant was waiting to take my bags. The interior of the house seemed so natural.  Mr. Terry Goodkind, who was also a carpenter and professional violin maker, probably made all the furniture himself. So many talents embedded in one human. “Please have your seat, Mr. Goodkind will be with you shortly Sir,” the attendant said with a bow, waking me up from my reverie. I sat and continued my tour of what seemed like the most decorated sitting room in the whole universe. I could see various quotes from his novels on the walls and one, in particular, caught my attention “YOUR LIFE IS YOURS, RISE AND LIVE IT”. It was a line from my favourite book. ‘A very good day to you”, a voice said. There he was, staring at me with a bright smile on his face. “You’re welcome to my humble abode.” “Mr. Goood… Goodkind, it’s an honour to meet you” I said stammering, my knees feeling really weak. “It’s an honour to meet you too”, he said, his calm smile still very evident. We started talking about sports, novels, and life in general, he listened with rapt attention and answered all my questions with extreme calmness. After an hour or so, we were served tea and he took the reins of the conversation and started telling me about his life. After what seemed like an eternity, I looked at my time and it was almost evening. “Wow,” I said, “time flies when you’re having fun.” “Yes, it does,” he said chuckling out loud. “So Mr. Goodkind, can you show me where you write, where the magic all happens?” I asked. “Well, I write everywhere, but if you’re asking for a magic room, I don’t have that, but I can show you my study”, he said smiling. He stood and walked through a door on the right leading to a narrow passage. He opened the door to his study and I could see the four walls of the room were covered with shelves that held books of all sizes, some bearing several layers of dirt and others beaming with freshness. I could see books from familiar authors on the shelves, the likes of J.K Rowling, J.R Tolkien, Chimamamda Adichie, Wole Soyinka, etc. In the centre of the room was a table that held a laptop, open books, and several containers of pens. I could see parchments and letters here and there too. “This is where most of it happens.” He said. “Wow,” I said looking around, feeding my eyes to stupor, “This is, indeed, huge.” “So now let’s get to the main reason you’re here,” he said. “The main reason I am here?” I asked him in surprise. “Yes, I want to show you something” he replied as he went to the wall on the left and pulled out an age-beaten book. At his touch, the wall came alive and creaked as the shelf moved forward and aside. “Grab a torch from the table and come with me, don’t be scared.” I was skeptical about his instructions, things had taken a weird turn, I couldn’t figure out what was going on. I picked up the torch from the table and walked behind him down the stairs that had appeared in the wall. We emerged into a wide, round room. The room looked like a medieval prison with dust-covered walls, though, I could still make out markings and symbols all over it. It looked as if the room had not been opened in ages. Another weird thing about the room apart from the fact that it had no edges was the enormous metallic structure at its middle. Terry moved over to it and said, “This is the Symph, no one alive except the 2 of us has ever seen it, and only a few people have beheld it since the beginning of time” Walking closer, I could make out the features of this odd-looking object. A faint humming sound was coming from it and there were several inscriptions and symbols on its surface. One, in particular, stood out – a rune that looked like a circle with a dot in the middle from which lines radiated outside the circle. I also noticed concrete slabs that bore similar markings at the base of the structure. “What’s a Symph?” I asked. “It’s named from the Greek word Sumphõnus meaning harmony. This machine here is older than time itself and from it radiates all inspirations for poetry, writing, and literature. It has been described with several names for eons – the merger of souls, the aligner, the source. And now it has chosen you as its next bearer” “Chosen me?” I asked with a low giggle. “Yes, it chooses a bearer from every generation to make sure the authenticity

Creative Essays, Writers

The Guardians by Victor Oladejo.

The day Grandpa Joe was buried , the whole pack gathered behind the cabin and howled all night. The wolf Clan men came and comforted Clara and her daughter Kemi. They sat around her and were still like statues in their brown leather cloths and glittering gold jewels. They gripped their spears and their shields in the silver light of the moon and chanted their war songs. They didn’t wear their masks that day and It was the first time , clara herself saw the face of the head chief of the Wolf Clan. He was as black like Tar and his body was covered with strings and strings of golden beads. Though Clara didn’t understand their language except the laboured trials of the Chief at English, she felt an high sense of solidarity among the clan she had dreamt about all her life while she was at the college. Grandpa Joe was a wildlife photographer , photo journalist and an archaeologist.He came from a very rich family and would fit in if you call him half caste. His mother was a German wildlife photographer. Her quest for wildlife brought her to West Africa where she married a Yoruba and gave birth to Grandpa Joe. Clara herself was very young when her parents died. When they died , Grandpa Joe enrolled her in a boarding school where she lived most of her life. The only time she spent with Grandpa Joe was the holidays. Whenever she came, Grandpa would show different things and moments he photographed. They were happy, but Clara always saw different odd things during her stay. The first thing were the men in leather cloths and Spears who came every Friday with wolfs. On those nights when they came , Grandpa Joe would ensure she was asleep then he would return to the back of the log cabin. It wasn’t long before Clara knew the relationship her Grandpa Joe had with the Wolf Clan of ìbugbewura. The chief stood and the wolfs ceased to howl. All spears were lowered and shields were dropped. The men tilted their heads to the left and were still again. “ We know why they killed Joe, we know they are after our Gold but what they didn’t remember was the power of the great sting” he turned and spoke to his clansmen in the Wolf Clan language. The great sting is the name of the drug made only in ìbugbewura. The drug when taken could make body parts regenerate and heal within seconds if the heart wasn’t destroyed. “ We would fight and we would Conquer. We have seen the likes of them, centuries ago and till now we are still standing. We shall release the park “ he smiled and the wolfs growled. “ My dear ones shall feed on their flesh and they shall know their place” The chief told Clara and spoke the same message to the clansmen. They nodded and they began to strike the earth under them with their spears. They left few minutes later to start the hunt. ******** Colonel Asiwaju sat on the bike and drank the wine from the bottle. He was glad that the only person in his way to the ancient gold mines was killed. Joe had been a thorn in his flesh since his various attempts at exploration. Though he was happy, what held his Joy with a tight grip to the ground was the fear of those who would come for him as the dying man said. Colonel Asiwaju shook his head and tried to laugh at his thought but he couldn’t. The various towns and villages around ìbugbewura were deserted after the Nigerian civil war and till now, they were all ghost towns and villages. The story itself was older than the young colonel himself. He dropped the bottle and stared at the forest, the giant trees were beyond normal. “ Aliyu!” He shouted and a soldier ran to him. “ We start today, gather the diggers and the soldiers, we march out today. We have no time. Brief everyone about the measures in place and……” he smiled and scratched his head. “ Tell them to be careful of wild beasts that crawl on fours “ Aliyu nodded and ran to the big tent, Colonel Asiwaju could hear his right hand man shout the orders to his men. He was pleased that he was making progress, at least at the moment. After a while the men were ready to explore . The drive took hours before the army got to the ghost habitations. The towns were empty and deserted. Wrecks of cars and automobile were seen and houses torn apart by bombs dotted the forgotten landscape. Aliyu sat in the front seat and he was listening to his Radio. He was a man of integrity and great wisdom and was twenty or twenty-two during the exploration. He was glad he was trusted with the search and he was determined to prove his ability to his master. He checked his watch and shook his head, it was twelve O’Clock. He ordered his party to stop . He stood on the boot of the van and briefed his party. “ We are all aware of what we are here for. I no want any mistake, you do mumu l shoot you.” he said and they nodded. “ Don’t shoot unless you are ordered to, l don’t want casualties. if you fail, you fail yourself and your people…… I say you fail!” “ Yessir! “ they shouted. “ I say you fail!” “ Yessir!” they shouted. The desolate school and post office next to them echoed their voices. Miles to the army were the Wolf Clan men and their pack. They were at final process of injecting the wolves with the great sting. The first pack were released and the second pack were injected last. The streets were empty and they were rumored to be the habitation of phantoms. Aliyu was marching in silence ahead of his men

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