It's okay to think small
What Twitter meant for writers, how to build a better community, a short mountain getaway, the horror of gift giving, and the eternal appeal of con artists.
From 2007 until around 2017, I was a Twitter power user. In the beginning, Twitter was a niche platform, full of inside jokes and mundane updates. Reading and writing was the medium, which made it a great fit for literary folks. Back then, the biggest complaint about Twitter was that no one cared what you had for breakfast. Not, for example, that you were sending too many death threats or trying to topple democracy. In many ways, it was a simpler time.
I never liked the breakfast criticism because I did care what you ate that morning, actually. I wanted to know what books you were reading and see your cute pets. I was thrilled to click through photos of your wedding, your daily outfit, your kitchen experiments. I was and remain an extremely nosy person, and the internet—for a brief, glorious time—offered access to fascinating details about other people’s lives. I loved being online so much, in fact, that I made a career out of it, which currently includes managing the social media team of a global, publicly traded, fintech company!
But everything changes, and the internet is no different. These days I spend very little time scrolling my personal Twitter. When I do log on, it’s mostly to share my newsletter or catch up on the latest literary discourse. I don’t get most of the jokes, only understand half the drama. What used to feel weird, interesting, and pleasantly mundane now feels polished, calculated, and crafted specifically for engagement. If I never see another 🧵 emoji, it will be too soon.
Over the last few weeks, I’ve read a lot of hand-wringing articles about the future of Twitter and the virtual communities we’ve built. As the cracks in these companies spread, how will we connect with each other? If you’re an artist, how will these changes affect your platform, your ability to reach your audience? If we aren’t trafficking the same sites and networks, how will we know what’s going on? What will we miss?
In The Art of Gathering, Priya Parker talks a lot about how all gatherings are not for all people. A carefully curated guest list is not just your responsibility as a good host; it’s also a gift to your attendees. For a gathering to be meaningful and transformative, it must also be intentional. There should be expectations, a code of conduct, a shared goal and a reason for being there; you can’t open the door and let just anyone in. Parker wasn’t talking specifically about social media, but the same philosophy applies.
Which is why, as the internet giants of my youth begin to falter, I’m not looking for the next big platform. I don’t want to be in a crowded room without knowing who wants to connect and who just wants to sow discord. Once, I was willing to search for the diamonds in the rough. Now, I don’t have the time or the patience to put in that much work.
Some people are great at Twitter. My friend Lucy, for example, writes brilliantly funny tweets and goes viral weekly, sometimes twice a day. (This is not an exaggeration.)
I’ve never gone viral on Twitter, and honestly it looks like a nightmare. (You should see Lucy’s mentions.) As a writer and a reader, I’ve always preferred blogs and now I prefer newsletters. These virtual spaces help me be more intentional about what I consume and who I let walk through the door. The conversations feel more honest, the connections more meaningful. Yes, the audience is smaller and a single issue probably won’t go viral, but the tradeoff is worth it.
If you’re going to give your time to a platform, you need to make sure you’re getting something back. To use the internet as a tool for community, it helps to know who you’re talking to.
Snack Break
I was supposed to send a newsletter last Sunday, but instead I escaped to the mountains of North Carolina with some of my dearest friends. When we arrived after a long and rainy drive, freshly baked chocolate chip cookies and the most beautiful cheese plate I’ve ever seen were waiting for us. (Also: friends!) It was a great weekend and I spent most of it eating, laughing, drinking coffee, playing Code Names, and sneaking yet another cookie. 🍪
Relatable Reads
The Age of Social Media Is Ending
“From being asked to review every product you buy to believing that every tweet or Instagram image warrants likes or comments or follows, social media produced a positively unhinged, sociopathic rendition of human sociality.”
Speaking of the internet, this Atlantic piece is a great—if bleak—meditation on the rise and fall of social media, and how we can save ourselves. 🤖
Five Approaches to Gift-Giving
Ann Friedman reshared her simple but profound guide for gifting, and I’m so glad. Gifts are not my love language and I’m really bad at giving good ones. I don’t enjoy shopping, I don’t like giving or receiving the wrong things, and I just generally find the whole process overwhelming. (The 5th suggestion has been my go-to for the last year or so, and remains a favorite!) 🎁
How Con Artists Became the New Tier of Celebrity
“Why do we flock to their tales, desperate for details and juicy nuggets? What makes some villainous women seem so admirable to us? According to Dr Tim Holmes, a lecturer in criminology at Bangor University who has written extensively about con artists, we’re often impressed by the extent of their success.”
The novel I finished writing this year is about a con artist, so I will click on anything that says people are interested in these stories and an editor should buy my book immediately for a lot of money. 📓
Coffee Club
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I love this! <3 Especially what you write about being intentional.