This one is from June 10, 2019. My, how much has changed…and yet, hasn’t!
The title of this piece is IN A WORLD OF FOLLOWERS, I’D LIKE TO BE AN INFLUENCER – and just as an aside, I wrote a book called INFLUENCE in 2023 about— you guessed it — a social media influencer. LOL.
I’m going to bet if you know what the above icon is, you’ll understand the title of this blog.
First, a little backstory.
When I was a kid, roughly 175 years ago, my third-grade teacher, Mrs. Karen Sinclair, said something to me one day that has stayed with me all these millennia later. I was an overweight, thick glasses-wearing, curly-haired, shy kid prone to impulse control issues when it came to talking in class. I was bullied – horribly – by both girls and boys. At that age, there really is no division along sex lines with bullying. One day, after an especially verbally vicious attack on the recess playground, I came back into the classroom, sullen and non-communicative. When class ended for the day, Mrs. Sinclair asked me to stay after. She wormed out of me what had been said on the playground. When I cried that all I wanted to do was fit in, be like everyone else, but couldn’t because 1. my clothes were wrong, 2. my hair was wrong, 3. I was ugly, 4. I was fat…etc…. (you get the picture) she took my hand and told me this: “Don’t be a follower. Don’t be like everyone else. You were born to be a leader, Margaret, to be yourself. There’s only one you. Don’t settle for less.”
Yeah, she was my favorite teacher of all time.
Fast forward 165 years to the present.
The above symbol is the INSTAGRAM logo. Since I started my writing journey, I’ve been attempting to get people to read my books through various marketing methods, one of them, posting on Instagram. Recently, I came across a phrase that “called” to me: Influencer. Apparently, there are people (millennials, mostly) who have huge Insta-followers and who get paid for taking pictures of themselves with products. The companies who manufacture the products pay these kids for simply posting a picture. People see the picture and are Influencedto buy the product because they want to be like the cool person they are following.
Can you spell BRILLIANT!!
I have a decent amount of Instagram followers and I’m gonna work on getting more, but for now, here’s me at my new job, taking a picture with a product I’d like to tell people about so they can buy it and be cool like me. I’m an Influencer:
Hee hee
Sorry the book is backward – this whole Influencer thing is gonna take time to perfect. 🙂 But you get the idea.
~until next time ~ Peg
And just FYI: The book’s on sale for 99cents right now until june 21~~ Get yours here:
Just an fyi- today’s snippet is fromINFLUENCEwhich is currently FREE on kindle until 12.19.2023. Have you read it yet? Now is the time to before the price goes up again on the 20th!
“Excuse me, Mr. Craymore,” I said. “I believe I’m next on your daughter’s next dance card.”
Sterling Craymore’s gaze raked me from head to feet, an assessing glare in his eyes and one, if I’m being truthful, meant to assure me he could cut me off at the knees if he wanted to. If I’m ever lucky enough to be a father I’m going to use that withering glare on all my daughter’s boyfriends.
“It’s okay, Daddy,” she said, removing her arm from the crook of his elbow crook and simultaneously planting a kiss on his cheek. She whispered something in his ear that had the suspicious look dissolving, to be replaced with one of pure paternal love.
I didn’t want to give her a moment to reconsider, so I stepped forward and extended my hand. “Shall we?”
Effortlessly she slid into my arms. For a brief moment, I allowed myself to simply enjoy the feel of her body close to mine. The song was a slow, jazzy ballad perfect for swaying to. Both of us, though, were too practiced as dancers to ever simply sway.
We were silent for a few moments as I glided her across the dance floor, each of us learning and concentrating on the movements of the other.
“You’ve done this before,” Mackenzie said, smiling, as I spun her to the right.
“Never underestimate the benefits of a good dance instructor.”
“Miss Davenport’s?” She asked, naming a school I knew catered to the wealthy.
“No. I took lessons in England as a boy, where I was born.”
“Why don’t you sound like your brother, then? His accent is charming.”
I lifted a brow as I stared down at her. “And mine isn’t?”
The tips of her ears went pink. “I meant,” she said, “When Charlie opens his mouth you know he’s English-born. I don’t hear a hint of anything in your voice.”
“It’s because I grew up in the States. When my parents divorced, my father wanted to come back here after being away from the country for almost a decade. He’d been running his business from England, but with the split, decided to return. Charlie got mom and I got dad in the divorce settlement.”
“That’s sad. But you two kept in touch, right?”
“Of course. He’s family. My older brother.” I grinned down at her. “Of course, he does like to laud the older part over me.” I glided her to the left. “We saw one another on most of my school holidays. The bond between us is strong.”
Her sigh drifted over me, the sound like the high register keys on a piano tinkling.
“It must be nice to have a sibling. I always wanted one, but.” She delicately lifted a shoulder.
“A blessing and a curse is what I tell people having a big brother is like.”
Her smile was like a thunderbolt and knocked me back as if I’d been struck by its force.
“So,” she asked, “how do you know Gideon?”
“I don’t. Not personally. I know of him through Nell. He’s friends with her new stepfather.”
“William McNab.”
“Yeah. When Charlie mentioned they were attending this shindig tonight, I wormed an invite.”
“Why?”
To meet you would have been an answer I’d need to explain, so I told her instead, “The cause is a worthy one and my mother raised us to support worthy causes.”
She nodded. “His clinic is wonderful. He takes in anyone, whether they can afford to pay for the top-notch care they receive, or not. One hundred percent of tonight’s proceeds from the silent auction are earmarked to continue that service.”
“Worthy and noble,” I said.
I glided her around a couple who’d stopped to speak to another pair of dancers.
“So, is this how you spend your free time, Mackenzie Craymore? Attend charity auctions? Hobnob with society movers and shakers? Have lunch with friends?”
“Dance with strange men?” she said back, making me laugh.
“Touche. I didn’t mean to sound snarky. I’d just like to get to know you better.”
That must have touched a cord. Her expression blanked a bit. “I keep busy,” she responded, noncommittally.
“Which tells me absolutely nothing.” I smiled when I said it.
“A woman likes to be a little mysterious,” she said, her lips twitching. “How about you? What do you do all day when you’re not attending charity fundraisers garbed in a five thousand dollar tuxedo?”
My brows shot up.
“I know the brand.” Her cheeks pinked a bit. Of course she did. As a professional social media influence, she must. But she didn’t tell me how she knew it.
Interesting. Her new career wasn’t a secret, not to people who knew who she was, anyway. Why hide it from me?
Since I hadn’t answered her question yet, I decided to go with my version of the truth. “I spend my days attempting to write the great American novel.”
“How’s that going?”
“Not well, lately. But it looks as if things are starting to look up. Right at this minute they are, at least.”
The implication she was the reason wasn’t lost on her. A rosy flush started at the tips of her ears and drifted down to her cheeks and jawline.
The music pulled to a stop. We didn’t. With the silent band surrounding us, we continued to move as if lazy music pushed us on. If anyone thought it odd, I didn’t care.
“How do you feel about lunch?” I asked.
She blinked a few times. “I eat it two, maybe three times a week.”
Again, I couldn’t help but smile at her dry humor. Was there anything more alluring than a beautiful, sexy woman who could make you laugh?
“Care to make one of those two or three times with me?”
Influencewill be 1 week old tomorrow – I can’t believe she’s so old already, LOL!! In honor of her 1 week birthday, I figured a Sunday Snippet was in order. Here ya go:
The place Nick chose, The Good Pig was one I’d never been to before, situated on the west side of Columbus Avenue between 65th and 66th streets. I wondered at the reason for the odd name.
The moment I came into the place my focus was stolen from checking out the surroundings when I spotted Nick at the bar, his attention zeroed in on the front door. He stood, a drink sitting in front of him, an elbow leaning against the top of the bar, one hand in his trouser pockets.
He looked effortlessly elegant and supernova hot at the same time. Magazine model gorgeous looks combined with raw sexual heat.
What a combo.
I stumbled in my Paredos as I made my way to him.
And I never stumble. Not in six inch stilettoes, kitten heels, or flats.
This guy really got to me.
His smile started in one corner of his mouth and ambled toward the other, his lips parting to reveal his pleasure. His entire face smiled, causing tiny lines to fan across his temples and two twin crevices to pop up on his cheeks.
I couldn’t ever remember any man grinning at me the way he was, not even Lucky. My insides went into a free-fall like when you’re on the downslope of a rollercoaster, and I felt my clutch tremble in my hand.
He met me more than halfway, his hand extended.
“You look lovely,” he said as he slid that hand around my bare upper arm and bussed both my cheeks, European fashion.
My toes tingled in my Paredos.
“Thanks,” I mumbled as he removed his hand from my arm and slid it around to my back, stopping just above my waist as he guided me forward.
“I reserved a table in the back,” he said. “It can get loud in here at lunchtime, but the noise is buffered back there.”
He led me through the packed bar area through a connecting door and into a deceptively large dining room. A white shirted, bow-tied waiter met us and escorted us to a booth along the back wall. Once we’d slipped all the way in, he handed us menus and said he would be right back to take our drink orders.
“You were right,” I said, as I opened my menu simply for something to do with my shaking hands. “It’s much quieter back here.”
Nick ignored his menu, instead, leaning his elbows on the table and threading his fingers together. His gaze took a slow stroll over my face, the smile that sent tingles all the way down my spine focused on me.
“I’m really glad you said yes to lunch,” he told me. “I’ve been looking forward to this since last night.”
Those little tingles increased.
I smiled at him, unsure of what to say, another facet of my personality that isn’t usual. I never have trouble making small talk with anyone. Deportment lessons mixed with social graces were ground into me as a child.
Apparently, with this man, deportment went dormant.
Our waiter returned, took our drink orders – a diet soda for me, water for Nick – and then recited the specials of the day.
“What do you recommend?” I asked him.
His pleased smile told me most people never consulted him. My father and mother raised me to be respectful to everyone we interacted with be it a bus driver, garbage man, or the prince of a neighboring monarchy. I was the type who over-tipped, always said please and thank you, and tried to be gracious and courteous to everyone.
“You can’t beat our Caesar salad,” he said, pen poised above his order book. “Our chef does something to the dressing that makes it stand out in a crowd.”
“Sold. I love a good Caesar. I’ll have it with grilled salmon, please.”
He beamed at me, then took Nick’s order of a turkey club.
“You have that effect on men, you know,” he said once our waiter left us.
“What effect?” I wasn’t being coy. I really didn’t know what he meant.
“When you smile at them and give them your undivided attention they practically melt.”
Pleased and embarrassed, I shrugged. “My mother taught me it’s much easier and nicer to be polite to people than demanding and rude, which many in our position can be and are.”
He nodded. “My mother taught Charlie and me the same thing. You get more flies with a drop of honey, she always says.”
“She’s right.”
He nodded again, then unfolded his hands, slid one across to me and weaved his fingers with mine. The gesture shocked me. So much so, I didn’t pull back or give any indication I wasn’t fully on board with him touching me.
“Did I mention,” he said, one corner of his lips lifting, “how glad I am you took me up on my offer of lunch.”
I laughed. “Once or twice,” I said.
The smile broadened and I swear my ovaries popped to attention.
What. The. Actual. Hell??
The waiter returned with our drinks, and a huge smile for me.
Flattering? Sure. But I was still trying to come to grips with how my female organs were all moving to alert status simply from Nick holding my hand.
Slow burn romance. The heat builds and builds until the flames can’t be doused except for one way. And you know what that way is, LOL
Secrets. Both Mackenzie and Nick have secrets they don’t want the other to know. Since this is a romance, those secrets cause a great deal of conflict and inner turmoil for them both – the best kind of angsty romance!!
Later in life romance. Nick’s pushing 40, Mac’s 36. No spring chickens, these two.
Social Media Influencer. She gets paid to hawk products on-line.