Thirteen years ago, I first ventured onto Twitter under an assumed name. As a criminal prosecutor, my online presence was closely monitored by those who paid my salary, so I needed to exercise caution. That first account was purely voyeuristic in nature. I quickly zeroed in on a small number of accounts – mostly journalists, a few other public figures, and several nature lovers. I never engaged, except with a couple of bird photographers, whose observations and posts inspired me.
Almost exactly one year ago, when I began submitting Crossing 51 to agents and publishers, I quickly learned that if I wanted people to buy my book(s), I needed a “platform.” After briefly cringing at the thought of what establishing a platform might entail, I jumped right in. I reactivated my Facebook account, which had been dormant for the year it took me to write the book. I then set up a “real” Twitter account. Real, as in, my real name and my real thoughts.
I researched how to engage as an author. Some of that advice has worked, some has not. I’ve amassed over 19,000 followers – enough to populate a decent sized town – assuming all those folks are as real as I am. Have I amassed a “captive audience?” I doubt it. When I interact with marketing professionals, they gush over my Twitter following, as if I’ve now become a legitimate player in the publishing world.
I honestly don’t know what to make of that number. Early on, I engaged in what’s known as #follo4folloback, but I quickly realized that I did not want to follow everyone, especially those whose primary reason for being on Twitter is to engage in political discourse/debate/flame throwing. It’s pretty easy to tell how people use the platform from their bios. And while I very much wanted to follow fellow writers, I also wanted to find readers. Even more importantly, I wanted to avoid drama.
My first several weeks on Twitter kind of reminds me of my first days of high school. Except at least back then, I had some friends who carried over from middle school. Sending out my first tweet and choosing accounts to follow took my inclination to overthink into overdrive. Fortunately, after a few months, things smoothed out. I became a master at curating my feed through the mute and block function. I realized that people exist in varying degrees of satisfaction with their own lives, which they project through their Twitter posts. Many complain of trolls and bullies. I know they’re out there, but I’m pretty good at the art of dodging and weaving. Decades of litigation probably helped.
Because I study the human condition, I’ve found great fulfillment in asking questions that bring out different perspectives. After all, Twitter is reflective of the world we live in. And over time, I’ve been able to cultivate some lovely friendships (“moots”) that feel authentic, or as authentic as an online friendship can be. I’ve supported fellow authors by buying their books. They’ve supported me by sharing their publishing experiences and subscribing to my newsletter. I’ve taken some of these Twitter friendships offline and forged additional connections that are propelling me toward a dream come true: the publishing of my first book.
Every morning I exchange greetings with those who show up on my feed, and it feels like the scene in Monty Python’s “The Meaning of Life” where the fish in the tank all wish each other good morning. I’m reminded that for many of my “moots,” it’s already afternoon. I recently learned that only 20% of Twitter users live in the US. All this to say that Twitter is like having a bunch of pen pals from all over the world, only it happens in real time. Call me naïve, but I think that’s magical.
Over the last month, a palpable uneasiness about Twitter’s future has seeped in, casting a bit of a cloud over the experience. I can tell that for some, it’s a social lifeline. Many are fleeing to other platforms. In this moment, I’m choosing to compare this experience to the upcoming end of the school year. As kids, we exchanged phone numbers and expressed our hopes and plans to see each other over the summer, when we signed each other’s yearbooks. As adults, we can do the same on Twitter, by sharing our other social media handles and signing up for each other’s newsletters.
If I only get one good year’s worth of Twitter, I can say, unequivocally, I’m grateful for everything it was.
THANKS FOR THE MEMORIES!
I too am grateful for Twitter and the "moots" I've met and dialogue with - it has brought a bit of fascination to my later years here in Ontario, Canada. I love that there is a writing community here, most of my writing is years old so I don't share it or haven't as yet but I love to read - all good writers are encouraged to read, read, read - when an author moves my heart, I quite often write that author c/o their publisher as I learned when a student at the Christian Writer's Institute. Quite often, much to my surprise I get an unexpected response from the author, I save them in my journal.
Well said - I feel you completely. I’m only just beginning my Twitter learning, but love the feeling of making new connections.
Campo Jac