What NOT to Say as an Introductory Tweet, Apparently

So, after the book deal was announced, my critique partner Bree Despain sent out a Tweet, telling her followers to follow me. She must be very powerful, because immediately I got like a hundred new followers. Bree said something like, "You'll love her. She's hilarious."

That made me nervous. I had all these new followers, and now Bree was promising them I'd be hilarious. I never feel unfunnier (less funny?) than when someone says stuff like that.  I felt like the new people were sitting around, watching Twitter, going, "Okay, Brodi, do something funny."

*Side note: I've typed "funny" so many times now, that it's starting to not look like a real word, but more an amalgam of "fluffy bunny".

So, just to give people a taste of what it will really be like to follow me, I sent this tweet:

Wow. Lot's of new followers. Hi! Here's an introductory tweet: I have a strange zit on my bellybutton. Who knew that was even possible?

I think I instantly lost 50 of the new followers, (one even tweeted about how bellybuttons make her uncomfortable, and I'm thinking, "Why? At least 99% of people have them. The uncomfortable part should be that there's a zit on the bellybutton, not the button itself.") and Bree sent a follow-up tweet:  

I send you new followers and you start tweeting about bellybutton zits???

*added: she also added "That's why I love you."

The truth is, I didn't want anyone's expectations to be too high. I thought my tweet was a typical example of what I have in the brains, and a good chance to say, "If you like the tweet, there's more where that came from. If not, get out now."

Because if there's anything I truly hate, it's failing to meet expectations. So let's lower that bar, people. You know the saying, "Aim for the stars. You're bound to hit the moon." Let's amend that to "Aim for the roof of my house. Perhaps even the tops of the trees. Hope we don't get caught in the branches. Then we can be pleasantly surprised if we clear the trees."

Who's with me? May I please have a holler? (I can't speak street, let alone type it.)

I had a great time at Matt Kirby's book launch last night. I'll give a full report of the event on Monday. (But I'd appreciate it if you'd only expect half a report, and then you can be pleasantly surprised when I post the full one.)

What are y'all up to this weekend? I've got soccer games up to my ears, and then my mom's making soup. Mmmmmm.....

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What I'm Reading, What I'm Writing, and a Twitter Snafu

Housekeeping: Emptying Brodi's tiny brain for your Friday amusement

Reading: EVERYTHING IS FINE by Ann Dee Ellis.
Halfway through and loving it.

WIP: Word Count 18,495
To keep myself motivated on my next book - heretofore known as "Work In Progress" or "WIP" - I'm going to occasionally post my word count. (You can see how I already thwarted my intentions to stay motivated by using the word "occasionally".)

Anyway, the word count I'm aiming for is somewhere between 60,000 and 80,000. So by my calculations, I only have 142,987 words to go.

If anyone else is working on a book, and you want to join me in the word count challenge, (which, again, is totally arbitrary and non-binding) please feel free to leave your own word count in the comments. Together, we can kick our own butts.

Follower status: Holding strong at 59. Would any of you lurkers out there care to make it an even 60? Anyone? I like nice round numbers, and I have to admit to a slight fear of the Primes.

Twittersnafu

Sometimes when I tweet, the page crashes and I get this little thank you note:

Something is technically wrong.

Thanks for noticing—we're going to fix it up and have things back to normal soon.

Followed by this picture:

Ummm... Is this like one of those psychological Rorshach tests?

My first thought on seeing the picture is, "Darn Tootin' somethin's wrong. Something's very very wrong."

First off, the evil ninja robot's distended limbs can't possibly bring good tidings or anything. Plus one of his lobster claw hands is missing, so we know he is seriously P-O'd.

Because he lost a hand, and most likely suffered through a Freudian childhood involving an oedipal complex with his mother, he has decided the only way to make things right is to kill an innocent little bird.

With the help and guidance of the clouds above, he contructs a bomb that looks deceptively like an egg. You can only imagine what will happen after the incubation period.

So, yeah, I'd say something is "technically wrong." And morally wrong. And I'm pretty sure logistically wrong too.

When Twitter thanks me for noticing, and then shows me that picture, I can't help but wonder if I'm part of some weird global experiment to see if Twitter users are indeed smarter than a fifth grader.

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