Lorraine Mace

Notes from the Margin — January 2010

Text Box: All Pinged Out Have you ever felt as though you’d won a prize, only to discover that accepting said prize leads into a maze of insanity? I am the proud author of a non-fiction book which I was commissioned to write and even received an advance against future sales (yippee). It’s been published and is in bookshops, online retailers and all the usual outlets. So, that’s great, I thought. Time to put my feet up, wait for the royalty cheques to flood in and retire in comfort to an exotic island, where I would sip cocktails while reclining in a gently swaying hammock with a bronzed and toned toga-wearing Adonis in attendance. Okay, I’ll be honest, I didn’t really expect the Adonis (my husband would have to fulfil that role and he’s a bit out of condition for a toga). And, if I’m really truthful, I didn’t plan the retirement to an exotic island either. But I did think that achieving the holy grail of publication was the end of the story as far as I was concerned, so living a slightly more comfortable existence off the royalties didn’t seem unattainable. And it may well be attainable – since all I have to do is tag, ping, blog, network, link and maybe even twitter (I know, it sounds painful and I’m already twitching, so hope that counts). The twitching is my daughter’s fault. She is one of those annoying people who take you literally when you say something like: I wonder if there is any way to improve sales. Before I knew what had happened I’d been organised into taking part in a whole new technological world. I’m not certain I’m ready for it – I’m convinced it isn’t ready for me! Under her not so patient tutelage I’ve set up a Facebook group for my book and it even has members, but I’ve no idea what I’m supposed to do with them. Should I be laying on drinks and snacks? Give entertaining talks or slideshows? Every so often I go on the group page and cringe with guilt because I’m clearly neglecting my responsibilities as hostess. I think this might be why so many of my group’s members have taken up online farming – which, I’m reliably informed, is the latest Facebook craze to numb the senses. I’d like to try it out, but I don’t have time because daughter says I have to blog. You’d think having its own group page would be enough for one little book, but no, it needs a blog as well. Not just any old blog – a networked blog. As author of the book, I’m also the scribbler of the blog. Come up with amusing tales about living abroad, said my slave-driving offspring, and don’t forget to ping. Don’t forget to what? Apparently when you post to a blog no one will know about it unless you ping to the networks (I know, I’ve almost lost my own will to live at this stage, but bear with me and we’ll get through it together). So I’ve subscribed to a pinging service which alerts who knows who, in who knows where, that I’ve posted a new humour piece on the blog. There I was, patting myself on the back for a job well done, when the soon-to-be-disinherited one came up with the next question. Did you tag your post? Tags aren’t the same as pings. These are words you add on to the end of a blog post which get sent to the search engines when you ping. Blog, tag, ping. Got it? No, neither have I, but maybe one day... The next step is to encourage reciprocal linking. The more links you have, the more Google will love your blog and push it up its ranking pages. It feels like playground stuff. You can use my chalk to draw out the hopscotch grid, only you have to let me use your skipping rope in return. But it’s no good playing with the unpopular children – oh no, you only want to share your sweeties with the cool kids who have search engine appeal. I now spend so much time blogging at thegreatestmovingabroadtipsintheworld.blogspot.com (the title’s a real conversation stopper in itself), worrying about my poor neglected group members on Facebook, learning how to tag, ping and link, that I barely have time to write. As for twittering, I can’t. No matter how many times my daughter says it’s the only way forward, I just can’t face it. I’m all pinged out. Write Away! Notes from the Margin


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