When I had my first real job — the one where you wear sensible heels and a white blouse instead of a band T-shirt and scruffy jeans – I secretly laughed at the older women who worked for the big bosses on the fourth floor.

“The dinosaurs” we called them.

Word processing software and equipment had just hit the markets, and we young guns embraced the software immediately.

We could now delete entire paragraphs with the press of a button. The dinosaurs didn’t have a clue about that. They just started over.

All of them had at least two bottles of Liquid Paper in their desk drawer, right next to a box of carbon paper.

We knew everything because we were young.

We understood technology, a new word back then.

We could run circles around them if only they’d get out of the way.

Forty years later, the tables have turned.

In my former job as a yearbook teacher, I used every trick in the book to reach parents and students to get them to buy a book.

We put up signs and posters all over the school and mailed letters home.

We sent emails to parents’ accounts and put a link to our yearbook account on the school’s website. We recorded a message for the school phone tree.

But times change.

Students don’t look at posters on the wall because, during these post-pandemic times, they’re still not physically in the building.

If they are, they’re looking at their phones when they’re walking down the hall.

Letters mailed home are unread because parents don’t check physical mailboxes. Anything really important is texted to them or posted on social media.

Forget phone calls. Hardly anyone has a land line and, if they do, they never check their messages. Cell phone numbers change so frequently, it’s hit or miss to actually connect with a potential buyer.

A former colleague posted on social media that they were looking for ways to sell more yearbooks. I suggested some options, but every suggestion was nicely shot down as being out of touch.

“But you’re a really nice person!” she posted as a reply.

I realized something tough.

I’m now the dinosaur.

I’m the relic.

I’m the irrelevant one.

After a few hours of feeling sorry for myself, I thought more about what I did and didn’t know about marketing a product.

You must have something people want. You have to enlighten buyers as to what you have for them, why they need it and how they can get it. The transmission system changes, but not the message.

The same goes with writing. People join the author with an unspoken contract.

Engage and entertain.

Enlighten and involve.

Surprise and satisfy. The author’s characters, plot, and intention should touch a nerve in a readers’ heart and head.

Sometimes writers want to make people laugh. Other times, they want them to cry, but always, readers want to feel emotionally connected with the characters they’re reading about.

Good writers – and there’s only bad ones and those looking to improve – are continually searching for the best way to connect with readers.

That never goes out of style.

I don’t know how to navigate the latest social media platform or how to put emoji’s in a text message.

I don’t have a reason to create a Tik-Tok video.

I’ve never ordered fast food from an app and the only door dashing I do is from my car to the front door during a rain storm.

And I don’t mind that I don’t know those things.

I suppose it’s time to find out where the other dinosaurs are grazing and join the herd.

 

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.