Miss K. smiled and studied the four of us: Sandra, Ben, Don and me, the fledgling writers who were attending her “Building a Platform” seminar.

 

Whenever I heard that word—platform—I couldn’t help thinking about playing hangman when I was a kid. Everyone became annoyed that I included the platform when I drew a new game. “All you have to do is draw the upside-down ‘l’!” they’d say. But to me that felt incomplete.

 

Platform.

 

And I couldn’t help thinking of platform shoes when I heard that word. These were the only two aspects of “platform” I was familiar with.

 

“Writing a novel is the easy part,” Miss K. said. “The hard part is marketing it.”

 

We four writers glanced at one another. I knew we were all thinking, “Well, writing a novel isn’t…easy.” I’m sure we were all also thinking, “Marketing isn’t hard. It’s sheer torture!”

 

“An author needs a platform,” Miss K. said. “This is, in essence, his or her corporate identity.” She clapped her hands. “The most important item is a professional head shot. It will be expensive, but so worth it.”

 

I noted this on my little pad of paper. “Head shot: blown budget.”

 

“And I can’t stress enough the importance of social media,” Miss K. added.

 

“No,” Sandra said. “I don’t do Facebook. And I don’t tweet.”

 

“Well, I…uh…okay,” Miss K. stammered. Sandra had thrown the first curveball.

 

Don raised his hand “I want to know about how to list awards.”

 

Miss K. crinkled her nose. “Oh, no, don’t list awards. It comes across as clinical.”

 

There was a long pause. “Is that a joke?” Don said.

 

“Not at all,” Miss K. said. “Awards are intimidating. People think they’re about to read a science journal.”

 

Don shook his head.

 

“You see,” Miss K. said, “people want authors to be bigger than life, but also relatable.”

 

We all tried to process this. I meekly raised my hand. “But what if you have a sort of presence like, say, Charlie Brown? A nice guy, but no real pizzazz.”

 

“Oh, people love Charlie Brown,” Miss K. said.

 

Sandra folded her arms. “Only because he’s a loser. People like him because they can say, ‘At least I’m not that guy.’”

 

It was Ben’s turn to speak. “Why can’t our books just sell themselves? I care about the story. I don’t want to know about an author’s favorite food or whatever.”

 

“It doesn’t work that way,” Miss K. said. I was still perplexed. “Maybe a better example is Antonio Salieri.” I could instantly sense a collective “Huh?” from the group. “He was an accomplished musician,” I went on, “but Mozart had an ‘It Boy’ factor that Salieri couldn’t compete with. Mozart was like the Justin Bieber of his day, but with actual talent.”

 

“What are you talking about?” Sandra said.

 

“Don’t you remember the movie Amadeus?” Then I realized the film came out—gulp—many, many years ago. I felt like going into its history on Broadway, then delving into the real historical facts, but I’d already earned some scowls from the class.

 

“Anyway,” I said, “some people have more natural flair, so how do people who like to hide in corners build a platform?”

 

Miss K. stared out the window for a minute. “Just be yourself,” she said. “But be bigger than life.” She smiled. “Now, about that professional head shot.”

 

Someone behind me laughed. I turned. It was the ghost of Salieri, pointing at me with one hand and slapping his knee with the other. In the opposite corner I spotted Charlie Brown, his shoulders drooped, his head bowed as he stared at the floor, as if he’d just lost a spelling bee or a baseball game. Yet again.

 

As Miss K. prattled on, I started to play a solo game of hangman. I figured at that point I hadn’t wasted the entire $125 on the seminar. After all, I’d just built some sort platform, hadn’t I?

 

It was a start.

 

*******

When Barry’s first collection of stories was read aloud by his second grade teacher, the author hid. As the years flew by, he wrote more, hid less (not really), and branched out to Super 8 films and cassette tape recorders. Barry’s audience—consisting solely of friends and family—were both amused and bemused.

 

Tinseltown, a Finalist in the 24th Annual Lambda Literary Awards, is Barry’s first novel. His novel The Celestial won the Gold Medal in the 2012 ForeWord Book of the Year Awards and was a Finalist in the 25th Annual Lambda Literary Awards. Reunion, a collection of linked stories, was a Finalist in the 2012 ForeWord Book of the Year Awards.

 

When not embroiled in his own writing, Barry sips wine, nibbles on chocolate, and watches films and TV—both the classic and the cheesy. (Mmm…cheese!)