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Social Networking: How Much Is Not Enough?

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Social networking - is it all just navel-gazing and blogging about blogging? Or are we actually building connections that will matter?
So one of my resolutions, post-Confusion, was to be better about social networking and spreading word of my projects. Towards that end I’ve been posting scraps of the WIP on a daily basis (and plan to do so until it’s done or someone buys it), doing more writing for the SFWA blog (just finished up a review, and I’ve got interviews scheduled with authors Myke Cole and Jason Heller) as well as a series I proposed on Thomas Burnett Swann for the Tor.com blog, and — in keeping with my belief that one of the best ways to promote yourself is to promote other people — trying to mention interesting stuff on various social networks.

So – it’s weird, but they all have such a different vibe for me that I find myself posting different stuff depending on what the network is, and this, I think, leads to a certain amount of inefficiency and wasted time, which since in theory I am a fiction writer more than I am a blogger is something I should curb.

I’ve pretty much abandoned Livejournal, and I don’t know whether that’s a good or bad thing. I should probably set up a widget to collect G+ posts or Twitter tweets on there. Google+ is great (and my favorite, truth be told), but not everyone is on there. I use it a LOT for class stuff.

Facebook is where almost all of my family members are (and where I get most of my baby pictures, between certain people named Corwin, Dresden, Leeloo, and Mason) and it’s also where I seem to talk about politics the most. Twitter and I have an on-again, off-again relationship, and I always feel like I’m missing parts of the conversation on it in the BLAST of stuff from the firehose of tweets constantly crawling up my page. And then there’s this blog as well.

One of the things hampering me in setting up a good system is a feeling that too much social interaction can be a bad thing — that people will unsubscribe if there’s too much, and it seems as though that varies from one network to another. I like Jay Lake’s Link Salad — and maybe one thing to do is collect the links and stuff posted on other networks to present here in a weekly entry. Is that something people who read this blog regularly — or sporadically — would find useful?

And should I be posting the same stuff on all the networks? I took a look at what I’d posted over the course of one day on FB, Twitter, and G+ and while some stuff got crossposted, there wasn’t a lot of overlap.

Part of the reason I’ve never cottoned to Twitter is that it feels like you’re shouting all the time. I like being able to like or + a comment to show I read and appreciated it without feeling like I have to say something. And conducting a conversation on the latter two feels like…a conversation, while Twitter feels like shouting across a room of people who aren’t particularly interested (or else are overly so) interested in the conversation.

What do you think – how much social networking is too much? Do you stick to a particular network or employ the same scattershot approach?

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8 Responses

  1. I’ve been thinking of this as well. We’re in a content rich era. The content itself isn’t that rich, but there’s plenty of it. Having someone I trust point out the sparklies would be nice. In a way, that used to be the job of editors. They were the gatekeepers of cool. That class is diminishing. Additionally, I think publishing will turn into a true collective. If you’re a newbie, you’ll need some recognized stamp of approval. Cross promotion, without it seeming forced or false, is what will allow the ecology of our genre to survive. Similar authors will collect like turtles on their little islands and bark out, if you like so-and-so, then you’ll like my friend so-and-so who writes something similar. I totally plan to start promoting my friends and their work though, it seems a good use for my blog.

  2. Oh, glad you’re going to be writing about Swann. I remember talking about him with you at Orycon. If there’s an author ripe for rediscovery, he’s it.

    As for social networking, I’m unable to leave it alone and unable to find a way to do it effectively and efficiently. Basically, argh.

  3. This is one of the hardest parts of writing for me. I love Facebook, Twitter, blogs, etc, but it’s really hard to keep up with the cyber world and hard to gauge where your own presence has the most effect. I want a robot who will take all my thoughts and selectively clever them up for tweets, FB/G+ posts and blogs, then report back to me everything people said on every platform.

    One of the odd crossovers lately has been the amount of comments I get when I link to my blog on Facebook. The blog itself doesn’t garner many comments in the comments section, but many people leave their thoughts on Facebook. This is nice but it sort of defeats the purpose of having a blog open to the whole Internet–the comments by anyone should encourage strangers to comment and make it look “hot,” so to speak. C’est la writing in the digital age, I spose.

  4. I’ve been thinking about this a lot in the past year, and I don’t have any good answers. I’ve given up on LiveJournal, and in some ways that makes me really sad, because I miss the community I had built there, but in other ways, it’s let me be more productive, because I don’t feel like I have to keep up.

    I’d gotten into a weird spiral where I felt bad about not posting enough, and also about not staying caught up, and all that feeling bad made me less productive over all, because instead of reading some of my friends’ entries, or writing more of my own, I’d think about how some friends might feel sad if I didn’t get to their posts, and also how it might not be fair to post my own entries without having time to read and respond to others, and then I just wouldn’t do anything, but I’d worry about it, which took energy.

    Now I float between G+, Facebook, and Twitter. I think I use Twitter the least, but it’s also the one I will be more likely to use if I am out and only have my phone available. Facebook has all my family and a lot of my close friends, so I tend to check in there regularly and skim my stream, but I post usually for friends and family and not as much for writing stuff. G+ I love for keeping track of stuff like your class, or planning outings with some of my local friends who use it, and I sometimes use it to share interesting links or talk about work (but not as much as maybe I should?).

    The best thing to me about my current approach is that I don’t feel guilty about not seeing things. I interact when I see something that sparks me to converse, but I don’t ever feel like I need to have seen everything (let alone comment on everything). I don’t mind what other people post, but I’m more likely to interact with people who are posting about stuff they genuinely find interesting (whether it’s the brownies they just ate, or an article about a new kind of lizard, or even work-related stuff they’re excited or bummed about), and not just posting impersonal streams of stuff that boils down to ads for their work.

    I’m coming around to thinking “enough” is a level of interaction that makes me feel like I’m still connected to people I find interesting, and “too much” is a level of interaction that leaves me feeling guilty and/or unproductive.

  5. They are all tools and I use them for different things, much like you don’t use a hammer (Twitter), when you need a rake (blog), or use a saw (Google plus), when you need a screwdriver (Livejournal). For me, Twitter is my way to broadcast to different hashtags that I think will find the information I have to share interesting.
    Facebook is more friendly. Like you, my family and real-life friends are there. I was being more political there, but have found that it backfires mostly because many people don’t understand the unspoken rules of social networking that if you don’t agree with the post, unless the poster specifically asks for discussion, they likely don’t want it. They want to share with like minds. So, I’ve backed off the political stuff — unless say it affects my creativity, like the SOPA/PIPA stuff. So Facebook is to engage my nearest audience. Twitter more far away. I use both to direct traffic to my blog or project site (e.g., http://www.martiuscatalyst.com). Both tools are useless unless they drive people back to my blog (one of my new year’s resolutions is to get the traffic on my blog up.) Google plus is my land of rebels and highly technical folks. I seem to cross post most to G+, as it is still fledgling, but I can see its usefulness down the road as a clearing house and where I can target messages to specific circles (and perhaps dispense with twitter and facebook all together). I also use LJ to connect to other authors, writers, artists. My LJ that contains my most personal thoughts, but I keep that friends only — even given that some of them I’ve never personally met. Rarely is my messaging crossing over, since each has a different audience. And that, I suppose, is the point of all of it. What’s too much and what’s not enough? Unless I can direct something back specifically to me the author or my work — given that includes the things that inspire and motivate me — I don’t repost/retweet. That seems to give it a balance. At least, that is, for me.

  6. Currently I use the different platforms for different kinds of communication, and it works pretty well for me. When/If I reach the point where it makes sense to have an author page, then I’ll have to find some new equilibrium; I’m not sure what would go there as opposed to something else. Intuitively it seems that little to conversation happens on fan pages–only promotional stuff, like release dates, signings, and contests.

    The only thing I cross post is links to my own blog, and I feel badly about it, but not badly enough not do do it. 😉 I used to have a circle exclusively for people who were not already getting those tweets on facebook and twitter, but Google+ is now such a big part of Google’s other search results–but only if you post publicly that I feel like I need to post those links publicly for SEO purposes. (I know . . . I feel slimy just using that acronym, but what can you do?)

    I enjoy Twitter and find it the least time-consuming. Do you use something like Tweetdeck? I find that Tweetdeck allows me to casually follow the stream without having to actively focus on it. I just reply to whatever moves me to reply. Also, it is possible to do the equivalent of +1-ing a post–you can “favorite” it. Nobody really knows except the poster, but I’m pleased whenever one of my tweets gets a favorite.

    You’re right about the lack of privacy/intimacy in your conversations, but if you wanted privacy or intimacy, would you be *networking*?

  7. I quite LJ several years ago – it was just too depressing. Twitter is a write-only channel for me. I never, ever read it. FB is also becoming very much a write-only site. There are a handful of groups and people I keep up with every couple of days, but I have cut down the time I read FB to minutes a day. It’s also useful for helping organize events sometimes, but I really do find a big generational bell curve on FB.

    I tend to think that I live a very uninteresting life (well, not to me but mostly to other people), yet when I see a post from my niece that she’s up at 3am with a tummy-ache, I’m not so sure my self-view is valid. I think I’m more focused on living life rather than talking about it, I guess.

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Patreon Post: Talking in the Night

IMG_0557This is a quick little flash piece because I’m still mired in moving, and also one that stays on the literary side of things, not wandering into the speculative. Nonetheless, I like it, and what it has to say about connection and communication in relationships.

Talking in the Night

It started like this: Mona turned over in the bed, trying to find the cool edge of sleep. She let out a little groan of frustration and her husband patted her shoulder, caught half-awake, half-asleep himself. She whimpered as though she’d awoken from nightmare and he pulled her close, buried her in his overflowing warmth.

After that sometimes she tested him with that little noise. Sometimes he was too asleep but sometimes he held her, reassuring as the shore holding a wave, feeling it leave and return, leave and return, regular as his breathing.

“You make noises in your sleep,” he said at breakfast. “Are you having nightmares?”

“Every once in a while,” she said. She studied him. How would he react if he thought she were suffering nightmares, that life was stressing her, eroding her, creeping into sleep to make it as uneasy as a coffee-less morning? “Often.”

He left before she did and when she went out through the frosty parking lot, she found he’d scraped the ice off her car for her.

Sometimes she woke and spoke words into the night, hoping he’d decipher them. “No” and “yes” and “please please please.” He slid his arms around her, stroked her back, but never replied. Sometimes later he slipped from bed and went to watch TV, sitting on the couch in his robe, lost and unknowable while the sports channel buzzed facts and figures while she lay in the other room wondering what he was thinking.

One night, she said, “Yes” and he repeated it, giving it a question’s inflection. She held her breath, didn’t answer and they both lay there, listening to each other pretend to dream.

He spoke first, the next night, and said, “Please.” It was her turn to repeat it, pitch it upward, trying to elicit the next word. This time it was his turn not to answer.

It could have laid quiet after that forever. She could have abandoned the night speech, he could have chosen in turn not to pick it up. Their horizons could have been sleepless and silent.

But the next night he spoke and told her about the time his father had taken him fishing and the hook had ripped into his thumb and his father had said men don’t cry. The story went out into the blackness and coiled near the ceiling, peering down at them as though they were dolls in a bed, plastic and supine.

She answered.

She answered with a story half-remembered of cigar ash and a grandfather and they went on telling memories they’d never spoken before to anyone, the things that they would have dreamed if they were sleeping.

And so they didn’t sleep. And so they talked till dawn and the day that was theirs as it had never been before.

If you’re not a Patreon supporter but would like to be, here’s the page where you can find out more about that.

If you’re interested in my online writing classes, you can find out more about the live ones here or the new on-demand content here.

In recent news, Rappacini’s Crow as well as All the Pretty Little Mermaids both made Ellen Datlow’s longlist for the year’s best horror and my collaboration with Mike Resnick, The Mermaid Club, will be appearing in Conspiracy. Other upcoming work includes appearances in Beneath Ceaseless Skies, Abyss & Apex, and The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction.

If you’re in Baltimore at the Baltimore Book Festival this weekend, please stop by the SFWA booth and say hi!

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Snippet from Hearts of Tabat

Abstract drawing that vaguely resembles rain, or a portal, or something like that.
What did it mean? Because surely it must, happening three days in a row. It couldn't just be that she'd had the same dream randomly dropped into her head three times. She'd mulled it over, standing in her office staring out over the street steaming in the warm spring rain that pattered on the patterned paper umbrellas, printed with political slogans, that everyone carried.
I’m working on the sequel to recently-finished Beasts of Tabat, whose working title is Hearts of Tabat. Here’s a snippet I wrote this morning.

Adelina did something she’d mocked other people for doing. She consulted a Dream Reader.
Everyone sensible knew that Dream Readers were frauds, making up stories to suit the needs they could read in their clients. Everyone’s dreams were as individual as their minds, everyone had their own internal cartography leading to entirely different parts of their brains.

But the dream had come three mornings in a row. Three mornings when she woke up with a start, fear clamping its fingers, slender as reeds, strong as iron, around her throat, her hands clenched so hard that her nails bit into the heels of her hands.

She was walking along a bridge, which narrowed further and further, so much only a single person could walk across it, then crumbled away in the middle, leaving a two foot gap. She knew a wide enough step would take her across it, but when she looked down, she saw the water, seething with toothy eels, their lanterned eyes staring up at her, waiting for her to fall.

She saw Bella far, far away, down the long road on the other side, back turned as she walked away, too far to hear Adelina calling after her. Snowflakes were falling around her, as though a cloud echoed her progress overhead, and moonlight glinted on the snow, tinting it purple and red.


Finally she gathered her wits and went back a few steps. She crouched, then pushed herself forward and ran to jump and land on the other side. Far below, the eels ground their teeth, a sound that crawled up her spine and along her shoulders.

A headshake, like a dog cleaning itself of rain, chased the sensation away.

Bella had vanished over the horizon. Parks lay to either side, and she knew they were Tabatian parks, but ones she’d never discovered before. The notion delighted her: she’d investigate their histories, incorporate that into her long-time project, a complete history of the city.
But which one to enter first? She hesitated.

The left-hand one held a fabulous menagerie surrounded by a high, green-painted fence. She could hear the creatures roaring and whinnying, baying and moaning and a calliope’s wheedle. Fireworks arced and popped above it.

On the right was a more sedate water-park. But it held nooks and crannies as enticing as any brightly-colored booth: serene statues had placards waiting to be deciphered, and a massive fountain in the center roiled with carp colored white and purple and red.

It came to her that the righthand side would cost her no coins, but that the menagerie would require the price of admission, so she fumbled at her belt, thinking she’d let the lack or not determine which way she went. But the coins in her pouch were unfamiliar and she was uncertain whether or not the ticket seller would accept them.

She hesitated, torn between choices.

Something was coming padding down the road towards her. A Sphinx and a Manticore, unchained, unrestrained. They walked without hurry, placid and implacable and deadly. Their mouths moved as though they were talking to each other, but they were too far to hear.

Where had Bella gone?

She looked from side to side, but something in the way they walked told her they would follow, no matter where she went.

They came so close she could smell the stink of the Manticore, hear the sound of their steps on the road. They were silent now as they came towards her”¦

Then she’d wake.

What did it mean? Because surely it must, happening three days in a row. It couldn’t just be that she’d had the same dream randomly dropped into her head three times. She’d mulled it over, standing in her office staring out over the street steaming in the warm spring rain that pattered on the patterned paper umbrellas, printed with political slogans, that everyone carried.

***
Love the world of Tabat and want to spend longer in it? Check out Hearts of Tabat, the latest Tabat novel! Or get sneak peeks, behind the scenes looks, snippets of work in progres, and more via Cat’s Patreon.

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