Love and Death

Photo by Alexander Grey on Unsplash

An Author Platform

As an author, having a solid platform is crucial for success in the competitive publishing world. Your platform serves many purposes, including establishing credibility and expertise in your chosen genre or topic. It also allows you to connect with readers and industry professionals, building a loyal fan base that can help drive book sales and promotions. A strong online presence through your platform increases visibility and discoverability, making it easier for potential readers to find and engage with your work. Keep in mind that your platform should be constantly evolving and adapting to stay relevant and effective in promoting your brand as an author. Regular updates and refinements are key to maintaining a powerful platform that helps you achieve your goals.

I know this may sound like hell, but it’s very easy. It’s really a website that acts as a virtual storefront, showcasing the author's brand and books with visually appealing graphics and social media profiles and newsletters feature attention-grabbing designs or words to attract readers. In fact, I don’t even keep up on my social media. I just like writing so that’s how I keep up my author platform. 

Whether you are with an established publishing house or an independently published author, you will need an author platform. In fact, the first thing a publishing house will ask is about your author platform.

The Write Kit has been working diligently for years to create tools to make this even easier for you. In the Fall we will release our new toolbox of everything you need to market your book, and even a few supportive words along your journey. I can’t wait to show you. In the meantime, I’m here if you have questions. 

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Storytime

Love and Death

by

Liz Dubelman

I got a FaceTime call from Dawn, one of the caretakers of a Digital Daughter couple. She said, “Oh, Miss Liz. You won’t believe it. Mr. John is dying.” She showed me John, a man of well over six feet, looking out of perspective like a newborn baby in a king-size bed. 

“How is Joanna?” I asked. She put his wife on the phone. Joanna either wasn’t aware this was a video call or I hadn’t taught her well. She put the phone to her ear. 

“Oh, Liz. What’s happening? I don’t understand.”

“John is dying.”

“No, no. I was supposed to go first.” John was 98. Joanna is 83. Math was not her strong suit.

“I’ll come over,” I said. When I got there they had moved John into a hospital bed. Joanna was holding his hand. His breathing was sporadic. I whispered into his ear. He reached out to me. 

“What is going on?” Joanna asked. I explained the body is made to be born, to squeeze out that little birth canal, and it’s made to die. I hate to admit it, but I watch a lot of TikTok and learned this from @HospiceNurseJulie. 

“No,” she said. “What is going to happen to me?”

“Don’t worry about that now. I promised John I would look in on you.”

John had four grown children with children of their own from a prior marriage and they began trickling in. I soon excused myself and left the family to the business of death.

I remembered when Joanna had had a stroke and John had hired me to get her inspiration back. Joanna is a painter. I had researched and consulted with experts. I visited every week with a video, a piece of music, a new color. I never felt any progress.

One day when I came by, John said to me, “You are a miracle worker. Joanna and I had an assignation last night. She’s back to her old self.”

I didn’t know that was a measure of success.

Dawn texted me shortly: Mr. John has gone to his creator.

When I visited Joanna several days later, she seemed much more childlike than I remembered. Her eyes darted around the room and her hands fidgeted with a napkin on her lap. She had no children, family, or friends of her own. She had always relied on John to take care of her. She was sure that John’s children wanted to move her into a home and take all her money. 

Joanna sat at her kitchen table, surrounded by stacks of papers and folders. She is an elegant woman with perfectly coiffed silver hair and designer silk robes. She had long ago lost her figure. She had been on lithium for over fifty years, causing severe bloating. With trembling hands, she handed me the documents left behind by her late husband. As I read through them, I could feel the tension in the air. Joanna's stepchildren were mentioned in the will, but it was clear that they were not on good terms.

I decided to reach out to one of the stepchildren to get their side of the story.  As we spoke, the tension in the air was so thick it felt palpable, weighing down on the atmosphere. Their words, filled with raw emotions, revealed an unspoken truth: Joanna had never shown any interest in their lives. It was evident that grief had unleashed a storm of unexpressed feelings, leaving a lingering sense of unease in the relationship. They explained that they had no interest in taking care of Joanna since she had never shown any interest in their lives, but their father had wanted them to, so they would. It was a promise to a dying man, which seems to hold more value than a promise to the living. I could see how grief had brought out unfiltered truths.

I returned to Joanna's house to share what I had learned. I reassured her that her stepchildren were not trying to steal her money or move her into a home. It was her decision what to do with her assets. She asked if she could pay me for my help, but I declined, wanting to maintain trust with both sides of the family.

Before leaving, I casually mentioned an upcoming event and asked if I could borrow a Dior gown from her impressive collection. Knowing that it would never fit her again, Joanna hesitated but eventually said, “I’ll think about it.” I haven’t heard from her since.