Just to set the record straight, I’m a consummate introvert, replenished by sitting alone in the sunshine, coffee at one elbow, muffin at the other, laptop balanced on my knees. Needless to say, I’m never the life of the party, a shy petunia among the more flamboyant tiger lilies and striking dahlias. I’m content to observe and listen, and then quietly sneak out the back door for a riveting night of jigsaw puzzles.
In our externally focused world, extroverts get a lot of press, but introverts have magical inner worlds that I wouldn’t trade for any amount of attention. I suspect that many writers are introverts, their inner worlds rife with imagination. It’s where we conjure up stories in dazzling color and symphonic sound. We create secret worlds and populate them with emotional characters that we love and destroy. Introverts are anything but boring…to themselves, at least.
The trouble with introvert-ism is that vexing duty called MARKETING.
Really? As an author I have to market? That’s the polar opposite of my introvert strength. I have to be social…in a social network? I have to post stuff on Facebook and start a blog? I have to tweet? Really? Are you kidding me?
If you sense the panic coursing up my spine, you might accurately assume I’m hyperventilating. My mind is a pristine blank slate, utterly thoughtless. What do I say? How many times a month can I write, “I…um…wrote this book, and I hate to impose, but I’d be really happy if you read it.”
My extrovert friends are bundles of energy, brimming with fantastic and zany ideas. I get that deer-in-the-headlights look on my face when they offer helpful suggestions. I stop breathing and need an EMT to jumpstart the old thumper.
Well, I’m knuckling under; you’ll be pleased to know. I just bought a book called Marketing for Introverts by Marcia Yudkin. If you catch me dabbling in the social scene without the internet equivalent of an anxiety attack, you can thank Marcia, I know I will.