Brands & Platforms
This past weekend I heard all about ‘brands’ and ‘platforms’ at my high-powered writers conference. (“You have to have a platform!” they all say. “You have to have a brand!” These days in America we’re all selling ourselves all the time.I can’t do it anymore. I tried all through the 90s with my first two (self-published) books. I tried all through the ‘00s with books Three Four and Five only I overdid it one day, fainted twice in two minutes and fell so hard the second time I pulled my neck permanently out of alignment and have had daily pain ever since. Now when people ask what I do I say “Peddle optimism,” and leave it at that.This past weekend I also leaned against a public building as rush-hour foot traffic pushed past. “Excuse YOU, jackass!” I heard somebody snarl to somebody else. I heard two guys in a sidewalk café going on about ‘big chicks’ and how they dug them. I listened, waiting to cross the street, while a woman 40 in very tight pants blasted her boyfriend to such an extent I thought the skin on his face would melt.And… I shared a cab with a stranger.I was heading to the Upper West Side. So was she. She asked if she could ride with me since I was ahead of her in line and the taxis were few and far between. “I won’t talk to you!" she said. "I won’t let my belongings touch your belongings!” which made me laugh out loud.It turned out she talked the whole way - when I wasn’t talking that is. She wrote a book , due out in October, about an experience you could tell has totally altered her life. I said “Hey I’ll write about it in my column when it comes out!” She said “Great!” and gave me her business card.I couldn’t give her one of my cards because once again at this conference they remained forgotten at home on my desk.I read her name aloud. “Jennifer Wilson” I said.“Jen,” she said. “I’m Terry” I said.“Hey,” she smiled and we parted on West 77th Street, both of us paying for the cab and neither of us having paid a lot of homage to 'brand,' or 'platform' either.
