On joining the 21st century: My husband has strongly suggested I (1) give up my car with the manual
transmission, and (2) get a dishwasher. One of my partners-in-writer’s-cramp urged me to learn to tweet as a marketing tool.
So I now follow others: some people who I know; some I’ve “met” on Twitter and would like to know in real life; and some who teach me stuff.
T number of the people that follow me doesn’t have a K behind it. Hey, don’t those K’s mean there’s no way Twitter can truly be “social” with two-way communication involved?
Woe One: My numbers imply actual interaction . . . but not terrific marketing ability. I have an idea! Follow me on Twitter @CindySchuricht
Woe Two: The Twitter world goes by so quickly. If you aren’t checking multiple times a day, tweets are gone—except for ads that endlessly repeat.
On the non-woe hand, some people post retweet-worthy links to some excellent blog posts–little treasures I wouldn’t have found otherwise. And I’ve had satisfying and playful interactions with other writers—one in New Zealand. I’ve seen wonderful photos and artworks, read funny little comments on life and words that inspire or inform.
Woe Three: Some links go places I don’t understand at all. I can’t even tell if those links are trying to sell me something. A bad use of limited time.
Woe Four: Although Twitter allows people to get out important news and to comment on crucial issues, when I went to add support for an issue that’s important to me, I was turned off by hateful comments and distressing photos that gave me trouble sleeping for about a week.
As someone has said, Twitter isn’t the place for nuanced conversations.
It’s great for cute dogs and cats though.
Woe Five: The following are tweets that I thought were funny–maybe not RITA (just in case that’s not a real abbreviation, Rolling In The Aisle), but amusing. Maybe I’m tweeting at the wrong time of day or they’re only funny to those with a certain odd sense of humor.
Tweet: Danger! Demolition debris dangling like participles!
Really, big chunks of concrete were hanging on rebar. I don’t think a hard hat would help.
Tweet: The question isn’t why did the chicken cross the road. It’s how in the world did it get there?
Going through my poultry-free neighborhood, this chicken was wandering aimlessly each time I passed. She wasn’t even able to decide which side of the street she wanted to cross to, much less justify her decision.
Tweet: Picture open-mouthed shark, lion, and T-Rex. Now imagine a rhino charge . . . sans fangs!
You no longer need to wonder why you haven’t seen a movie with hordes of screaming people fleeing vicious rhinos.
Some days I have fun on Twitter. Other days I feel more centered when I haven’t looked. So I’m working on finding balance and presentation.
Meanwhile, regarding the 21st century, I regret succumbing to an automatic transmission. No fun to drive, no exercise at all, and any car jacker can drive one. With my manual transmission, I was able to exude a “go ahead, make my day” attitude. No longer.
However, the dishwasher idea wasn’t so bad. My husband’s great and gets to them before I even perceive critical mass.
And, if Twitter goes by too fast for me to catch everything that might be interesting . . . well, there are lots worse things in life to miss.
P.S. Station Eleven, by Emily St. John Mandel and published by Vintage Books in 2015, is an adult book that will appeal to some young adults who don’t require the adrenaline level of a Hunger Games. The bulk of the story takes place twenty years after a pandemic that wipes out most of the world’s population and therefore all of our modern systems and conveniences.
People are starting from square one—almost. I had to look up “dystopia” to see if Station Eleven qualifies. It does. It also qualifies as a book to get you thinking.