All these heavy blog topics of late … ugh. Time for something lighter and jovial maybe.
I posted a tweet last night “Used to be all you had to do was walk over a mountain and into a new town to be someone else, Now you can just create 10 twitter accounts. Hello.”
No sooner did I post it than someone in Australia (?) or maybe he’s in New Zealand, I’m not really sure entirely, retweeted it with the comment “Show of hands, how many of you are Erin?”
I laughed and bantered with someone else on twitter for a few minutes and let it go.
But I was only half joking when I posted it. It seems, at times, some people aren’t quite all there and I wonder if they’re even real … but then it’s twitter. What could we ever possibly know about someone else on twitter? 140 characters is akin to silence … and if you add hashtags of any kind, the silence grows. And people post dumb things … and the silence grows louder for lack of explanation.
I was always avidly against twitter. I refused to set up an account … until I had to. When an agent hands you their card and says where can I find you online? and what’s your twitter handle? you scramble to make a twitter account as fast as you can.
My first follower was Drew Kaufman. That still makes me smile. We’d had a conversation about being twitter-illiterate that day, but then he took the time to go and find my account.
Six months later, thousands of posts in, 1500 followers, and I still feel pretty much twitter-illiterate. I’m socially awkward on land. Some days I feel even more socially awkward online. Makes me want to never post again.
I’ve tended to stick with people I know in real life lately. I’m still leery of those in the cyber zone. I mean there’s no harm in funny tweets back and forth but … when you’re approaching it for writing and finding other writers, it’s hard to know where the lines are, what boundaries to set, how to interact.
Some days I’d just like a life-coach to step in and tell me what to do and what not to do so I know the rules, because it’s really hard to know what they are.
You know, maybe I should approach it all as a joke. No more serious stuff. All smiles and happy faces and one-off comments filled with dry humor no one gets. Then again, maybe I should make another account with a new name and be someone else entirely. How much fun would that be? I could say what I wanted without fear of reprisal. Like who I wanted. Talk about what I wanted. And no one would know.
It’s just twitter, right? It’s not life.