Write on Mia!

November 19, 2008 By 70 Comments

Note: This is another one of those posts where I unabashedly fawn over my daughter. I’ll try not to be too sloppy.

“To bring up a child in the way he should go, travel that way yourself once in a while.”

~Josh Billings

Last week was our parent-teacher conference for Mia.  As some of you know, Daisy and I send our daughter to a dual immersion program where eighty percent of her day is in Spanish.  She’s in first grade now.  Last year, that number was ninety.

Daisy and I were keen to hear what her teacher had to say.  We felt we had a clear idea, for better or worse, but were looking forward to a dot at the end of our sentence.

Our daughter, it turns out, is quite the the little wordsmith.  Her magnificent maestra is pleased when students can line up three well articulated sentences.  Mia is penning five paragraph papers… in a second tongue.  She has a mature grasp of punctuation, and an apparent fondness for the quotation mark.

Mia isn’t a genius, but she is willing to work hard, and push through most any barrier impeding her comprehension.  She’s been drawing, or writing since she could hold a pencil. She is rarely afraid to try, and therefore most often succeeds.  For Daisy and I, this is a calliope of validating inspiration.

We’ve known Mia for seven and a half years, if we travel back to when she was no larger than a grain of rice, which I think is perfectly fair.  Even then, she was dangling the strings and making us dance.

We were thrilled to have a discussion with an outstanding practitioner who spends the better part of seven hours with our daughter, each and every weekday.  At school, Mia is undaunted.   She’s fearless, and flies without worry, unafraid to fail, but anxious to produce.

At home, Mia sometimes moves with the mayhem of a tornado, juggling several ventures at once.  She twirls from table to table, coloring Christmas ornaments, writing a letter to Santa, all while playing the architect to one of her famous “contraptions.”

It is easy to picture her in the classroom, and we acknowledge our fortune that Mia has a teacher who understands her student and wishes to articulate her productive, capable mind, yet also knows that her enthusiasm must be channeled.  Our maestra will help teach Mia to be organized without squelching her spirit.

Mia’s a wonderful writer because she has an example to follow, and for this I am certainly proud, but there is a caveat.

I sometimes juggle topics like a sideshow attraction, and Mia’s a good enough listener to know that I frequently work on many different things at once.  I must not only crow about the kudos, I must also look upon the side of the coin that is kissing the ground.

Our children are reflections in a puddle; rippling with an image not quite ours, but no doubt our distant double.  To truly know who they are, we must have a clear understanding of who we are.  Only then can we walk them toward their best.

Writer Dad

Sean Platt is a ghostwriter for hire, specializing in SEO web copy and custom blog posts.

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NaNoWriMo; Let the Marathon of Words Begin

October 27, 2008 By 87 Comments

“Beware the Jabberwock… the jaws that bite, the claws that catch… And hast thou slain the Jabberwock? Come to my arms, my beamish boy! Oh frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!  He chortled in his joy.”

~ Lewis Carol

Last year at this time, I was a few weeks into a novel, astounded to be there.  It was also the first time I started to read online, beyond the barrier of basic news and entertainment.  That was when I first heard of NaNoWriMo, or National Novel Writing Month.

What a wonderful concept; a marathon for our mind.  I cannot run twenty-six miles in a day, but I can write fifty-thousand words in a month.

Upon my finish, I don’t expect the printer to spit anything other than a super sloppy copy.  I imagine my ratio will be about one good page for every nine sheets of (shhhh… don’t tell anyone I almost swore on Writer Dad).  At that percentage, the month might leave behind a thirty page outline; one for each day of adventure.

I was gung-ho well before the email which sent me salutations, arriving just sixty seconds after sign up, with seven hundred words of zealous advice.

The cliff notes:

  • We don’t have to know where we’re going, so long as we get up and go.  Not every adventure needs a map, but without a hunger to see beyond the bend, our desires are fire waiting for ash.
  • Editing is for December.  November’s an experiment in pure output; a time to embrace our literary imperfections.  It’s for slipping off our shoes and wiggling our toes.  Perhaps so we can shove our socks inside the mouth of our inner nag.
  • We must inform anyone who will listen about our undertaking.  If they laugh, then we must repeat ourselves in a stronger voice.
  • Don’t even think about thinking of quitting.  Those who listened to our bold declarations will be expecting a finish.
  • Week Two can be hard. Week Three is much better. Week Four will make you want to yodel.

So I’m going to start writing a novel on Saturday, and will continue each day, writing without a map, until I reach my destination on the final day of the month.  I’ll silence my inner critic, declare my diligence, and see the story through until the very end.  Then, I will yodel.

I’ve set up a page for us nano’s to gather.  A tee-pee inside the village for us to pow-wow about our pages, endlessly whine, and fish for compliments.  More than anything else, the month should be merry.   A successful November doesn’t mean we write the great American novel.  It means we enjoy our moments, and end with a draft to diddle in December.

Writer Dad

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Check out Namas Daisy:  Would You Like Some Cheese to Go With That Whine?

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Forty Days and Forty Nights

October 17, 2008 By 65 Comments

Memory… is the diary that we all carry about with us.

~Oscar Wilde

Though I love blogging, I do wish I could change the odds of someone new reading something old.  As it stands, they’re equal to the odds of my passing  a bowl of peanut M&M’s empty handed.

It’s the nature of the beast.  Blogs evolve with rapidity.  Trying to keep up, let alone catch up, can feel like moving a mountain of sand with a pair of rusty tweezers.

I took Writer Dad seriously from the very beginning, because I wanted to grow as a writer.  This past week, I reread my first forty posts.  It’s interesting to look back on things I’ve scribbled and  find them somehow surprising.

Here’s what my sister said in an email after my first week:

My thoughts on your blog are that it’s extremely well written, and surprisingly professional and tasteful in how it’s presented.  I don’t mean “surprisingly” like a slam. . .  I just mean  it looks  like some Aspiring Professional Author Writer Dad carefully crafted it, and not my goofy brother who likes to hum Super Mario Bros. through his nose.  Wait, that still sounded like a slam, didn’t it?  It’s not… I hope you know what I mean.

Still one of my favorite compliments regarding Writer Dad.

I’ve compiled the first forty posts, and assembled them all pretty like in an E-Book.

The book’s an interesting read.  It starts with a few rather awkward posts, from the two weeks of Blogspot prior to Writer Dad.  I transferred them to this blog right before it started, so that first time visitors wouldn’t be wise to how empty the hallways actually were.

As the pages turn (or scroll), you can almost feel the moment things start to shift.  The writing becomes fun, playful even, as I started to realize what I was born to do.  Those were magical moments, the first taste of possibility, without the stress of major transition.

It’s a summit I look forward to climbing again.

These are a few of my favorites, in order of appearance.

  • Sink or Swim: We are faced with only two choices when we find ourselves adrift; sink or swim.
  • The Great Equalizer: A long and winding thought on the role of publishers in an industry about to shift.
  • I Promise: A commitment to continuously search for my truest voice.
  • Just Pay Attention: Music and language are critical to a child’s early development.  Dual Immersion is AWESOME.

If you have a favorite, and someone to share it with; perhaps someone who doesn’t normally read blogs, please email  a story, the book, or a link to this page.  Each entry in the E-Book links to the original post.  Feel free to drop by again.  Discussions here are endless.

The book is here.  Enjoy, and I’ll see you Monday.

Writer Dad

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Dejá Vuesday

October 14, 2008 By 62 Comments

“This is like Dejá Vu all over again.”

~ Yogi Berra

I love writing for Writer Dad.  Of course, anytime you’re staring into the beady eyes of a deadline, it’s bound to feel like work, but it’s a different sort of writing than anything else I do, and satisfying in an immediate way.

I sew my sentences together, send them to the world, then wait for the bottles to bob back toward my island.

Two… four…. eight…. sixteen…. thirty-two…. sixty-four hours, and then they’re gone; weeks worth of posts now buried in unmarked graves inside my server.

Most readers never reach the archives.  I don’t blame them.  I’ve never combed the annuls of even my most favorite bloggers.  It’s not personal, there just aren’t enough hours in the day.  

At this point, most of the Writer Dad audience hasn’t read anything more than a month old.  Because I’d like  to revisit some of our more entertaining prior posts, and also because I’d like to squeeze a few more minutes from my week, I’m introducing Dejá Vuesday.  The series will run through November, highlighting one vintage post each Tuesday.

If you have an old favorite, let me know.  If there’s a post that has more votes than the others, it will be featured the following week.  If you think I’m just a lazy git, you can tell me that as well.  New voices are welcome to add to the old conversation; old voices are welcome to return.

This week’s post:  No, no, no!  I said I didn’t want to be a Chooch.

Happy Vuesday,

Writer Dad

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Up and Coming Blogger has a Writer Dad guest post, all about the power of comments. You can check it out here.

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Namasté

October 10, 2008 By 83 Comments

Goals are dreams with deadlines. 

~Diana Scharf Hunt

Happy Friday all, today’s a special day.

Thanks for reading my rambles, and keeping our comments flowing with feedback.  There were a lot of great suggestions on Wednesday, and yesterday’s conversation about SEO illuminated my thought.  Special thanks to Michael and Susan for such articulate explanations.

Onward.

Namasté is one of my favorite words.  It’s super old, and can do back flips all the way to ancient Sanskrit.  

It’s a wonderful, multipurpose term; three syllables which roll from the tongue.  The children in our preschool use it when they greet us in the morning.  They place their shoes in their cubbies, knit their hands, then dip their noggins in a Namasté before walking through the door.  

In our family, we use this word for hello, farewell, I’m sorry, and, you are absolutely correct.  The actual, loose translation, going back to Sanskrit, is “I respect the divine in you, which is also the divine in me.”

Namasté = Ethereal aloha.

Those of you who have been reading longest will remember Fay.  Her father hand made us a sign for our door; Namasté it says to all who enter.

If there’s divine in me, than Daisy’s certainly the one to stoke it.  I wouldn’t wish to wake without her by my side.  

We have a few projects slated for next year; the most exciting creations since we combined DNA to bake inside her.  Those projects are not nearly finished.  In the meantime, we’ve another undertaking.  

A new favorite for my reader, and the second blog in the Writer Dad Family:

NamasDaisy.Com

Since Daisy is presently spreading herself so thin that she’s starting to look invisible, posts will start at once a week, every Monday.

Visit, enjoy, and we’ll see you after the weekend.

Writer Dad

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Namas Daisy looks as awesome as it does because Blogger Dad made that Namasté chalkboard divine.

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SEO, I Don’t Think So.

October 9, 2008 By 134 Comments

This is part four of a four part post.  Click here for part I, here for part II, or here for part III.

“The truth is more important than the facts.”

~Frank Lloyd Wright

I don’t write for SEO, or throw attention at keywords.  I hope I never feel the need to stray from such straightforward guidelines, at least not while writing for Writer Dad.

I can almost hear the collective gasp from the probloggers.  I’m not trying to argue, merely stating what works for me.  Writing for SEO isn’t it.

Before I began the blog, I did my due diligence.  

I read Darren’s book, and clearly understood the importance of SEO and keywords.  During my first two weeks of posting, I stuck to the principles.  I would outline ideas, title included, draw the keywords I needed, and then scribble around them.

It was backwards. 

I knew it, and abandoned the practice my third week.

Writing exclusively for SEO content, I’ve no doubt, dulls the voice.  Now, when I pen a post, I sit at the keys with a vague idea of how I’d like to spit.  Words spill, I bring the mop.  

Only when finished, do I read the post to see what keywords I might gather.  I then decide on a title, an appropriate quote, and a picture to give all the black and white a little splash of color.

Like advertising, or pretty much anything else, I’ve no issue with writing for SEO.  I understand the mathematics, and am positive that the future will find me developing sites where writing for the deities of search engine optimization is entirely necessary.  

When that day comes, I’ll design my words accordingly. 

The hallways of the internet blare with a billion echoes.  Like life, it takes courage to think different.  It’s hard to claim a niche when I find myself an expert at nothing.  I don’t want to pen lists to tell others how to live their lives better when I’m still working full time on mine.  Hunter Nuttall wrote a fantastic piece on building a slow and steady audience.  This is an excerpt from that article:  

Writer Dad says he doesn’t have a niche, and that’s certainly true in the traditional sense. But I think he has a very specific niche. He’s writing for people who like about 1 post per day, about 500 words, broken into lots of short paragraphs, with lots of interaction in the comments section, and most importantly, his unique writing style. Name another blogger who’s similar. Can’t think of one? That’s because he’s the only one in his niche.

The traffic that drives by Writer Dad could only be described as light.  What I do have, is a high percentage of people who stick around.  This is as it should be.  I’d prefer a smaller, genuine audience, to a large one who slips Writer Dad in their reader because they think it’s something they’re supposed to do.  

Without ads, an inflated audience is irrelevant.

When I write, it is because I want someone to feel a silhouette of my thought.  Even with a full understanding that my words will be mostly forgotten within thirty-six hours of broadcast, I write them with everything I have. 

My children will one day comb through my archives; I write for them.

If Writer Dad is my chance to touch our most local universe, then I wish to use my most genuine voice, rather than one designed to capture the attention of the Googlebots who crawl across my verbiage.  

When you have language, you can skip rope.  Why would I wish to tie my laces?

Writer Dad

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Can I Read My WeeBook in Oz?

October 8, 2008 By 100 Comments

This is part three of four.  Click here for part one, or here for part two.

If you don’t like something change it; if you can’t change it, change the way you think about it. 

~Mary Engelbreit

I’ve tried my hand at WeeBooks.  Rubbed the sticks together, but fire’s never flared.  

This doesn’t concern me.  I’ll keep rubbing.  Eventually, I’m sure, I’ll be sweating from the inferno.   Even if I’m wrong, WeeBooks have been well worth their time and casual assessment.  

Every WeeBook so far released was pulled from a portfolio, previously gathering cobwebs.  I will not wait for discovery, and have no fear of burning through my best ideas. 

Thoughts are like air; surrounding every second, and backing every breath.

My brief experience with WeeBooks has been an education.  They’ve taught me to release on schedule, collaborate, and work inside various mediums.  Even considering the dim sales of Number One and Two it!, I’m as proud of those eight pages with David Wright, as anything I’ve done.

I do not believe, despite conventional wisdom, that publishing and self publishing are mutually exclusive.  I do believe, fervently, that I can create content for both mediums without cannibalizing myself.  

I see the dangers in POD (print on demand), I do not see them with WeeBooks.

We are riding the froth of the first wave to crash upon the shore of our new Renaissance.  New writers are born every day.  In a couple of decades they’ll share their words with a world which barely resembles our own.  I have three blogs in my reader from children; eleven, twelve, and thirteen.  The eleven year old has been blogging since he was eight, and doing it in two languages.  Rapid change is twisting our wind; we can hide in the basement, or hitch it to Oz.

My art has yet to meet the needs of my audience.  I recognize this, and endeavor to improve.  Readers are patrons, and I will find a way to pen something which occupies the space between whispering muse and audience needs.  

That, I believe, is Shangri-La for any artist. 

Without ads, I’ll need assistance to draw the full magic from Writer Dad.  Of course, every reader need not purchase, but I will require a small rotating percentage.  The wider the reach, the smaller the needed percentage. 

I could never please every potential buyer on a single Friday, but I can create differing content for various divisions within a single audience.  You might not care to read about compound interest, but your sister Sally in Saucalito might.  Perhaps you’ll gift a download to her, or wait until the release of Writer Dad’s Dozen Rules of Writing (that title, by the way, is entirely hypothetical).  

At a buck, WeeBooks are the price of a tip.  I don’t have a donate button, and won’t be placing one, but I can certainly draw a parallel.  Most of us don’t think twice for dropping our change in the jar when handed a cup of coffee.  I myself never tip less than twenty percent (unless service is dreadful), and tend to frequent where I’ve established banter.  

I see no reason to ignore this design.  I know there are others like me.

Tips come in all sizes.  A minute to comment, Stumble, or Digg, helps these gears to turn.  If you have the ear of a Darren, Seth, Skellie, or Leo; or someone else as forward thinking, and believe they might be interested in any of these ideas, please, pass them forward.

WeeBooks are different; not quite posts, not quite appropriate to send along the publishing path.  Time will tell if I’m mistaken, but I see no reason why a WeeBook, or something similar, won’t be standard in time.

Two weeks back, there was tremendous discussion about various sorts of WeeBooks.  I’d love to continue.  What sort would you like to see, if any, and is there a breed you’d be willing to buy?  If you believe this to be a model doomed to failure, and have a moment to tell me why, please do.

Thanks.

Writer Dad

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Scads of Ads? Not Here.

October 7, 2008 By 83 Comments

This is part II of a four part series. Click here for part one.

Let advertisers spend the same amount of money improving their product that they do on advertising and they wouldn’t have to advertise it.

~Will Rogers

We canceled cable two years back; in our house, it’s DVD’s or downloads.  We rarely listen to radio; too much trash cluttering the silence between notes.  In our car, it’s CD’s or conversation.

Our children are exposed to advertising, of course.  They are not deaf or blind, and we do occasionally leave the house.  But their exposure is remarkably thin, especially considering the times we live.

I can’t weave the worldwide web without constant commercial assault; my eyes spammed at every other click.

I’d like for Writer Dad to offer asylum.

Allow me to state clearly before I proceed:

I’ve no issue with advertisers or advertising on blogs.  Bloggers have every right to mine as many dollars as they can from the countless hours they pour into their online enterprise.  If I had no product of my own, I would sell ad space, and I’m positive that I’ll have sites in the future which will harbor ads.

For now, here, I would prefer to design something different.

Our world is littered with advertising.  Online, it’s worse.  It’s embarrassing, we all know it.  I shudder to think what our more civilized progeny, several hundred years from tomorrow, might think as they comb through these, our present histories.

On Writer Dad, I’ll have my own words to shill.  I needn’t subject a loyal audience to supplemental promotion.

However, I am moving toward writing full time, and must leverage Writer Dad in a way that will generate income.

A few methods:

  • I’ll use Writer Dad to further spread my voice, and promote my services.  This is paramount to my future as a writer, whether I freelance or publish.  At Writer Dad I can meet new people and potential partners.  Fellow writers, artists, editors, agents, publishers, etc..  I adore the knights already around the table, and there’s plenty room for more.
  • I plan to peddle a lot of my language; WeeBooks and otherwise.  We’ll discuss this one in more depth mañana, but I don’t see why writers must always maintain middle men between themselves and their patrons.  Why sell a short story to a magazine, who will fill their magazines with ads, if I have the means to deliver directly to an audience, should they be inclined to download.  Sometimes, dissemination should be as simple as a handshake.
  • I’d love to keep our white space free from ads.  If this objective grows unreasonable, and I do add paid color to the sidebar, it will fly in only two varieties: affiliate products from people I believe in, or ads for services which relate directly to the plurality of the Writer Dad audience.  These will have long term placement, so our space doesn’t mutate with every refresh.

Without ads, audience participation is crucial.  Even without purchase, readers are patrons.  Links and comments are two ways to help without a wallet.  Reader creativity, I’m sure will help breed others.

This is our blog, and it will be exactly as excellent as we make it.

Writer Dad

If you enjoyed my words, please subscribe (for free) by RSS or Email.  If you’re a Stumbler, please consider Stumbling.  Thanks.

The uber observant of you may have noticed my new header and RSS splash, along with my groovy Stumble and Twitter buttons in the Sidebar.  These were the splendid work of Eric Hamm at “Motivate Thyself.”  How awesome is Eric?  He did it for me just to be a nice guy.  He was probably still glowing from the guest post he got from Leo at Zen Habits.  Congratulations, Eric.

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Setting the Stage

October 6, 2008 By 99 Comments

“Are we not like two volumes of one book?”

~Marceline Desbordes

Hello, everyone.

Happy Monday.

This blog was born in a blended broth of belief and bravado.  I told no one of the undertaking, save Daisy and a family friend.

Mom, Dad, and KittyTown were gathered in the hug on my second Monday.

I expected to be lonely, at least for a while, but I wasn’t, ever or at all.

I knew I would speak, and hoped I’d be heard, but never presumed to be passing words like pastries across a table, toward every other page in the atlas.

Blogging has been anything but hermetic.  For that I’m thankful.  Maintaining a blog has been like building a talk show (albeit much smaller), where every audience member is afforded equal and instant voice .

There are no phone lines to light, or commercial breaks to pause thought in the white space of the blogosphere.

A blog is not a diary.  It’s an alliance between reader and author.

In the fullest relationships, both parties feel as though they’re standing at the best end of the bond.  Yet no relationship can achieve such sure footing without clear, consistent, and honest communication.

So goes this week’s discussion.

I’m penning this post in Pages, Apple’s answer to MS Word; the icon, a svelte fountain pen, inclined against a bottle of ink.  I’ve always used WordPress to write for Writer Dad, never Pages.  Pages is the suite where I edit my novel, or write letters to my wife and children.  It’s where I scribed our farewell, and where I’m writing the words you’re reading right now.

What rendered these words significant?

I’m laying foundation we’ll be walking a while.  Of course, this blog is enslaved to evolution no different than anything else, but I believe  it is time to place the planks of the floor where we will dance.

Penning our pre-school’s adieu was liberating.  I felt like it kicked down all the doors inside an empty mansion.  I enjoyed being Writer Dad, a lot, but it’s nothing compared to being Sean Platt, Writer Dad.

Now I can sing with all of my voice.

I’m not afraid to try new things (except sushi), and am certainly willing to pioneer, especially while the frontier’s fresh.

The internet is gridlocked in repetition.  I’d like to ponder a model that, to my knowledge, doesn’t exist.

Over the next few days, I’ll discuss why Writer Dad doesn’t display paid ads, and why it likely never will.  We’ll further discuss the new Renaissance, and writing for SEO and keywords.  I’ll elaborate on WeeBooks, ask some questions, and hopefully make you smile.

I’ll smear my ideas across the week.  On Friday, a surprise.

My favorite so far.

More than ever, I’d love to swap thoughts as the cement dries around our blog’s identity.  Please, for the next five days, ask questions, link, and stumble as much as you’re willing and able.

Thanks.

Writer Dad

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Behind Their Eyes

October 2, 2008 By 94 Comments

If you’re interested in yesterday’s conversation, it’s still going strong.  I’ve gathered your best questions, and thrown them down, but I’ve no Idea if Benji’s bound to bounce them.

“Childhood is measured out by sounds and smells and sights, before the dark hour of reason grows.”  

~John Betjeman, Summoned by Bells

I don’t think there’s a sum I wouldn’t part with for the chance to live inside my children’s heads, either one, and even if only for half an hour. 

I’m totally serious. 

I’d drive to the bank, stack my collateral, beg for a loan, then walk home and figure out the best way to take care of the interest before it buried me to bones. 

Whatever I saw from behind those eyes, I’m sure, would be exponentially worth it. 

I can only ponder how my children view a world unfolding three feet from the ground.  By the time they’re old enough to really break it down for me, they’ll no longer be focusing behind the same lens. 

I helped make them, I certainly know them, and I believe I’ve a pretty good idea about how they string their thoughts together.  But it’s been a long time since I was as little as they are now, and I’ve long since forgotten what it’s like to peer at the world in front of me, without so much as a single breath of cynicism. 

I cannot imagine feeling, at my age, anything so innocent. 

When they’re grown, I hope I haven’t lost the wonder of musing the machinations of their minds.  I hope, when my children are my age now, and Daisy and I are cradling our grandchildren between us for a long, anticipated weekend, that I’m still wondering.  

Of course, I won’t be able to see any more clearly into the mind’s of those still too small to speak, or too tiny to know the minutia of poverty, crime, and deceit. 

I will not be able to see through the eyes of my grandchildren, so I’ll turn my eyes to Mia and Max, and see the world as they do.  It will be easier by then.  Our long histories will have woven together with the unrelenting fabric of shared experience.  Their first world view, born beneath the shade of Daisy and myself. 

So when I’m wishing I could see the world as my grandchildren do, but peering from the perspective of my own brood, it will be the perfect time to ask myself…

Do I like what I see? 

Writer Dad

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