Amy Klinger

Going Public

In the era of Facebook and Instagram, Snapchat, Jeepers, Hoodoo, Freetyme and Wheelie (I might have made some of those up), it seems like creating a personal site centered around a blog—particularly for someone who writes for a living—would be a natural progression. Progression, yes, but wholly unnatural.

I was never one for journal writing. A look back at my childhood diary will reveal pages upon pages with the words “I forgot” scrawled in my awkward, fifth grade handwriting. It’s not simply the need to keep the blog entries flowing that seems daunting; the whole effort just feels weighted down with expectations. Mine, yours. It’s an uncomfortable spotlight for a private person, a high definition close-up: sunspots, chin hairs and all. 

So why do it? The suggestion came from a friend with ties to publishing who was frank that publishers want you to have “followers.” They believe that you guys could be a ready-made audience of book buyers. And while I, too, hope that’s true, there’s always the risk that if the content here doesn’t feel worth your time and engagement, I’ll run you off and then I’m back to square minus one. 

So here’s a way I’d like to loosen the pressure valve. Let’s pretend this site is a conversation, albeit one where I am uncharacteristically chatty. Let’s keep it fun, interesting, and respectful. I’d welcome your insights, feedback, questions, declarations, confessions and shared experiences. I’ve left the comments section open (moderated, so you won’t see them publicly until they’ve been cleared). You can post there or reach me privately through the contact form.  

While we’re setting expectations, I don’t promise to be a reliable narrator. This “Amy Klinger” is a character like any other who comes from my brain. She chooses what to share and may be inclined to distort details in the service of telling a better story or protecting parts of the Amy Klinger without quotation marks, as well as any innocent bystanders pulled into these narratives. Because truth in writing, I have decided, is less important (an impossibilty?) than integrity. I do promise you integrity. 

I am beyond thrilled that you are here in a way that has zero to do with the influence the number of “likes” might have on landing a publishing contract. Rather, it’s awesome to me, in the word’s truest sense of the word, that this organized combination of letters is soaking into your consciousness. We are connected now. Let’s call this a mental handshake, the kind where I reach out and also put my left hand, grateful and welcoming, on your shoulder.  

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