What Is Your Platform? (My What?)

I remember the first time that came up in some gathering of writers I was in. Those apparently in the know were adamant about the fact that we had no chance of continuing to be traditionally published if we didn’t have a “platform.”

My only acquaintance with that concept – and a passing one at that – was its political use. I wasn’t running for office. I was writing fiction! 

Those of us who were hearing this for the first time either (a) went into a panic or (b) blew it off as a passing trend. Like Facebook, whatever that was …

I went with the latter, to my ultimate peril. Suddenly publishers I’d been with for years were wanting to know said platform. Ask me how I know that “I write stories. That’s my platform!” didn’t fly. It seemed that overnight, we all had to market ourselves like commodities which needed a brand, a logo, and a reason to be published besides that inner yearning to reach people through a well-told tale.

As you know, it didn’t turn out to be a passing trend. Those of us who balked either had to give up hope of being on the next new books list or figure out how it could possibly apply to us.

I think I have. My “platform” was there all along. And I daresay yours is too.

Your Umbrella

As I looked back at all the books I’d written for females ages 8 to 80-ish and all the blog posts, the workshops, the retreats, the presentations and the communities I shaped, I realized that every thing I’d done had something to do with Authenticity. 

If I was asked to give a talk or consider a writing project or build a short story around a theme that didn’t relate in some way to that (or opposed it completely), I turned it down. One day it came to me: if it didn’t fit under my umbrella, I had no room for it in my oeuvre. 

While “platform” has such a “market-y” sound to it, “umbrella” is friendly. Sheltering. Defining in an open way. Besides, I could envision it any way I wanted – which was as one of those giant beach umbrellas with the primary-colored sections like in an orange. 

Isn’t it fascinating how much freedom there is in limitation?

What’s Your Brolly? 

At the risk of sounding like a high school English teacher mandating that you look at the psychological underpinnings of The Scarlet Letter, you could think of it as the underlying theme of everything you create. 

Maybe the word message works for you in a general way – as long as that doesn’t conjure up images of sermons, which belong in pulpits, not pages.

Could be that you prefer over-arching meaning, which has a literary ring to it?

Or perhaps you’re like Scribble Jenai May who considers what influence she wants to have with her reading audience. (Not to be confused with being a social media influencer, which is a whole other thing.) 

Whatever you always want your readers to come away with, some knowledge or feeling they didn’t have before, that’s the umbrella that waits for you in the corner like Father Brown’s brolly. 

When Do We Break Out the Gamp?

(I am unapologetically showing off my knowledge of Dickens here. You are impressed, aren’t you?) 

Open that baby up whenever you post on Instagram. Put something out on Facebook. Inform your LinkedIn friends. Do your thing on TikTok. Write a poem. Create a short story. Pitch an article. Work on your novel. Compile that non-fiction book or collection of devotions. 

If your umbrella is big enough and true enough to you, you won’t run out of facets to write and talk about.   As you grow, so will the vastness of this essential foundation for all that you create, all that you live. It may transform. You may trade the pretty parasol for a sturdy golf umbrella. But while the topics may change, what you mean will not.

If nothing comes to you …

That’s okay. You might want to listen to Episode 4  of The Scribbling Woman podcast, the link to which you can click here on the website. There we explore questions for you to dream on.

This week’s question to ponder: If you imagine an umbrella instead of a platform, what does that brolly look like? It’s amazing what that might tell you.

And until next time, Scribble On!

Nancy Rue