What possibly can go wrong with hitting Like on Facebook and enjoying a rapidly growing Twitter following?

With book promotion on my mind, I’m all about using social media. Years of writing classes and conferences have drummed home one consistent message: If a writer wants to sell their book, they will need to have a presence on social media.

I’d rather not. Truth be told, I only like talking to strangers when I’m on a trip far enough away from home that guarantees that these strangers won’t be a part of my ongoing daily life. I don’t know why we raise kids telling them not to talk to strangers, and then crucify  grown-ups who don’t like to. But that’s just me.

Still, as a writer, I do as I’m told. I’ve been striving to have a presence on both Facebook and on Twitter before the late September 2016 launch of my book.

 

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I find myself using every break at work to accept new Twitter followers and to look at my Facebook feed. I do everything on the fly, squashing it between work and volunteering and other fun stuff. I don’t put my reading glasses on when I’m happily accepting new friend requests and reciprocating with Twitter followers. I’m in a hurry! Let’s do this!

So last weekend, just home from a week of work in Bethel, I hit Like and Retweet indiscriminately. I was bruised and sore from two falls on the Alaskan ice, overwhelmed with our near-constant darkness, and then caught a glimpse of my gray grow-out. Like, like. Tweet, retweet.

I called my hairdresser, who said if I walked in any time before 4:00p.m., she could fix my roots. She’s cheap and good, and has a miniature pig named Roxie she lets roam the salon. Worth the long, icy drive across town.

I got there by 3:00p.m. “Can you come back in an hour, Hon?”
Sure. I could return in an hour. I’d just have to idle in the Walmart parking lot and catch up on Facebook in the cold, grey, Alaskan afternoon since I was far from home.

The sun was going down. I opened my iPhone to look at Facebook. I was thrilled to see a message from one of my seven brothers. This particular brother usually reserves contacting me until just before or just after I see him in person, once every two years, so I couldn’t wait to read his message.

“What gives? Are you a non-believer?” he wrote.

This, because I at some point hit Like on a post of another about the divisive nature of organized religion in the past, which reposted on his Facebook feed.

But I didn’t know it in the moment.

My bruises. My roots. My brother.

A homeless man knocked on my window as I idled in the car. Because it was now dark, his knock scared me senseless.

I was agitated. I sent a brief response to my brother, who sent back an even longer admonishment. I drove back to the hair salon by 4, only to hear that I’d parked wrong. I re-parked my car in the freezing darkness, only to hear that my parking job was still wrong. Could I please re-park a second time?

My brother fired back another message questioning my faith in God. I responded with great irritation. The world was ganging up on me. I drove away, forgetting my roots. By now I was sore. I was cranky. It was dark. And I was trying too hard.

I drove back home and looked at my Twitter feed. I had a new follower from Australia.

Nice! That added up to almost 9,000 followers.

Then I got a direct message from her. I’ve never paid any attention to those, assuming that they’re spam.

“Hi. I was just looking through who is following you- do you realise you have some porn followers…maybe not a good look.”

Really?! I’m supposed to look at my Twitter followers? Why?

My bruises. My roots. My brother. My porn star.

And then I looked at my Twitter followers and found it. A most graphic image of a follower, a sight I’ll never forget. Thank God my brother doesn’t have Twitter.

“You’re supposed to block unwieldy followers from your Twitter feed since other writers and artists will try to grow their own numbers by looking at who follows you,” my friend Lee told me later.

I learned a couple of things. You can hide your Facebook posts from specific people without unfriending them. And you can block people from following you on Twitter.

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Before the night was over, I swapped cat pictures with my new Aussie follower. She’d just visited Alaska last year. I just visited Australia three months ago. We both write about budget travel, and are close in age.

And my brother? He sent me a message reminding me that if he didn’t love me, he’d have never asked about the status of my faith.

That was good enough for me, and for that, I’m lucky.

My bruises will heal. I can color my own roots. I learned to block my porn star. I can hide my Likes and posts from my brother. And I found the Australian version of me.

I’m learning a lot about social media. It might be too late for me to figure it all out before my first book is launched (PIECES OF ME will be published September 20, 2016 through She Writes Press).

But, please  remember that I’m trying, and I’m hopeful that in the end, I’ll get credit for good intentions.

Check out (Social Media) Tips from a Veteran Author Steena Holmes for more information.

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