Yesterday was interesting. I went to this seminar, run by Litfest and Literature Training. I was in two minds, but it was free, and near my house, and you got your dinner and as many chocolate biscuits as you wanted. And in the end (despite not much of the info being new to me) I am glad I did, mainly because I got to meet some new people (eek!) and was directed to some interesting websites, not least the tumblr tlog of the trainer, Jacob Sam-La Rose (see how down with the lingo I am? Who knew what a tlog was? Not me.)
It also turned out to be one more of the ways in which my work work and my writing work have combined and overlapped recently (insert wittering about Library 2.0 here) and when that happens it makes me like both of them more.
Walking home in the rain after foisting the url of this blog onto the people I met (if you are here, hello, and thank you!) I decided again that there is something troubling about all this social networking. The web is full of spiders – reaching out with their hairy legs, brushing past each other in search of some nasty/tasty/useful fly.
You should click on this link here to read a story by Neil LaBute (and the wonderful comments below it) before you go on.
Done? Good. Welcome back.
Setting up a website without doing all the other promo stuff was compared to going to a party and sitting in the corner waiting for people to come up and chat (in what you thought were your best pair of shoes and eyeshadow that looked funky, but became magnified into a perfect black-eye behind glasses). I find it much easier to go to the party online, mainly because I can ditch the party shoes and, perfect for shy slow-thinkers like me, there is a time lag. I get to draft before I hit ‘send’ or ‘publish’ or ‘update’.
There’s something insincere and distasteful to me about friending 600000 people you don’t know so you can promote your latest book/picture/song/tea-cosy but perhaps no less insincere than interacting with the world mainly through a medium which allows me to be constructed and drafted, as finished as the stories I try to write.