I think I’ve had it with social media.
I’m pretty much done with pictures of people’s rabbits and children and train journeys.
I tried twitter, and though it provides the occasional moment of entertainment, mainly it feels like hundreds of strangers jabbering at each other for no particular reason.
(Yes, I know someone finished her sweater because an all-points-alert tweet located the right yarn, but…well. Just but. When the Arab spring comes to London, I’ll reconsider.)
Back in 1974, my friends and I pored daily over the original facebook — the Harvard freshman register with its pages of black and white photos. Perhaps it all feels a bit too much like regression.
I’ve never bought a book because someone’s told me how great it is on social media (it’s nearly always the author telling me). And while twitter is fantastically addictive for reasons I can’t quite figure out (the possibility that someone someday might say something entertaining?) it clearly gets in the way of reading actual books and speaking to actual people.
I’ve started wondering whether an author’s interface with readers should be achieved by writing books.
In any case. As of today, I’m cutting back.
Except for blogging. I like blogging.
Any tweeting you hear from my vicinity will be actual birds. The ranting, however, will continue as usual.