Fans

This is going to be all about fans.     

Er, fans.

                        

Ahem.

                                        

C'mon now.


                                    

                  One way or another.

Fans have naturally sprung to my mind for a number of reasons:

a. Here in the historic Hudson Valley and scenic Sound Shore

it's been hotter'n than a romance novel cover.

 (Oh, look. There's one now):

and

b. Social media has been giving me absolute fits the last several weeks.

Oh, you don't understand "b.", you say.  Aside from there being nothing more social than a bunch of broads playing mah jongg in a pool, you will have to take your lack of understanding up with evil boy genius Mark Zuckerberg.

                                             

Wait!  Not that Mark Zuckerberg.

Yeah, that one.
Because, quite frankly, I don't  understand Facebook, either.

Well, now you're just being silly.

That's better.

On second thought, there's a reason why the social media giant's logo is a big, blue "F."

 Was toodling along pretty well with my plain old "profile," oblivious to the fact that I was about to crash, kind of like a Model T       in a tailspin at Indy. 



 Or wherever those Nascar folks go. 

(Gotta love a sport where the cars dress up like cookies.)  

                                     

And then it was strongly urged upon me that I should have a PAGE.  A fan  page. You know.  For fans.
                                                

A PAGE...

Several things passed through my mind:

a. A singer they seem to play a lot as muzak in retirement villages in Florida;   

b. Lancelot

    Um, Lancelot 

Um....Lancelot

(Now that's what I'm talking about!) and other men in tights;

                                   


c. Identical cousin Cathy Lane's hairdo on the old Patty Duke Show;

                                       
         (You know, "While Cathy adores a minuet [seriously?], the Ballet Russe and crepe suzette, 


our Patty loves to rock 'n' roll, a hot dog makes her lose control, what a wild duet.") [What? No 'Nick at Nite'          in your house?];

d. This guy:
  and,

e. being a person who occasionally likes to sprinkle pixels on a blank screen as if they were croutons, 

                                       

well, you know the drill.

Yes, digressing again. (This is my writing process in action, folks.)

In any event, the dire consequences of converting my "Profile" to a fan "Page" has thrust  (yeah, I said it) me into a social media hell that has left absolutely no time for anything else related to the computer.

Or pixels.

That's p-i-x-e-l-s.

Or even croutons.

Certainly not enough time to tell you all about The Language of the Fan. You know, one of the fun ways people communicated before there was Facebook.

Maybe next time.

Oh, would you look at that. Gotta go.

Taryn Kincaid is the author of an erotic paranormal romance, Sleepy Hollow Dreams. Her debut historical, Healing Hearts, a Regency romance, is available now from Carina Press, Please come visit her in social media hell, on Twitter, Facebook, Goodreads and at her blog at http://dreamvoyagers.blogspot.com/