Although I haven’t had much time to devote to my fiction writing—I’m finishing yet another nonfiction title—I do have a Twitter account for my pseudonym. I’ve always found it ironic that that Twitter account, which gets very little attention from me, has gained well over twice as many followers as the account in my real name. On both accounts I follow back, but few notice the account where I post more often. Strange. Lately I’ve noticed that my pseudonym account has been getting attention from what seem to be cyber-prostitutes. I’m not sure if that’s the proper name, but these users purport to be young women and they direct message you with solicitous intent (at least online). Needless to say, I don’t respond. It does make me wonder if that’s why Twitter is now known as X.
Social media has given new license to strangers, of course. For a while there I accepted any invites I received on Facebook (publishers look at how many “followers” or “friends” you have on social media). Many of these people I don’t know. One, in particular, happens to be online quite early in the morning and has tried to video call me a few times on Facebook. Those who do actually know me are aware that I spend less than five minutes a day on Facebook. I post my post, check my notifications, and move on to other things. In other words, anyone who knows me would never try to video call me through Facebook. There are other ways to reach me. I do have a blog, you know. Social media has mediated a level of intimacy that I’m not ready to engage.
For all my daily shooting off at the fingers, I’m a pretty private person, really. I’m shy—who knows? Maybe even on the spectrum—but also social. Working in publishing I know that those who have the power to promote your book (and price it so mere mortals can afford it) want you to have internet exposure. I guess that means some people will take it as an invitation to try to get sexy with you, or to call you at what is, in reality, the middle of the night. I want people to get to know me first. As much time as I spend writing, it’s a mere fraction of how I spend my days. Intimacy should be reserved for friends. At least I believe so. Those who know me well know my pseudonym and its real-life counterpart. For when I have time for that sort of thing.
