Where do we go if we leave Twitter? by Lu Hersey

 So much has happened in the last month - another new Prime Minister, a new Chancellor, a former cabinet minister busy eating grubs and kangaroo penises in the jungle with Boy George, and Donald Trump running for president again. And all before that infamous lettuce has even wilted. It's all very unsettling...

Which brings me onto twitter. Recently taken over by Elon Musk, Donald is allowed back on (along with any other nutter or troll who wants to shout poison - Musk believes in free speech). Consequently people have been leaving it in droves. So where are they all going? Do we need to panic? Where can we all talk about new books and hang out together if it folds? I thought it might be worth checking out some other platforms to try and find alternative social media hangouts, in case Twitter dies completely.

First off, I tried Mastodon. Recommended as the new twitter by a friend (ironically through twitter), thought I'd set myself up a profile. If you haven't done so already, don't bother. Yes, I have a Mastodon account. But because setting up gives you so many confusing server options, I've forgotten which one I used, and now I can't find it. Anyway, I had zero followers, and worse, couldn't find a single person I knew, not even the person who recommended it. You might think Twitter is just an echo chamber, but for me, Mastodon turned out to be a massive white elephant. (PS am revising this today as actually found Mastodon account again - it helped when I spelt it right...)

Decided to try TikTok next, as that's where the cool kids hang out. Turns out, I'm really not a cool kid. I set up 3 separate TikTok accounts by mistake, and the right one (the only one where I managed to upload a couple of videos and find 3 friends) isn't even on my phone. So I'm unable to upload all those hilarious videos I might have made for any of the #toks (#booktok, #witchtok, #anythingyoucanthinkoftok) in a universe filled with pouting youth and guaranteed to make you feel like the oldest person in the world. (On the plus side, I saw some amazing parrot videos. Sadly I don't have a parrot, but boy, parrots are REALLY clever.) 

Of course there's always that old favourite, Instagram. I've had an account for ages, and apart from an unfortunate incident where a hacker took it over for a while and turned my profile photo into a woman with a very large chest who seemed to have lost all her clothes, it's generally a place I like. It's great as a visual account of what fellow writers, friends and family are up to - but on the downside, book promotion stuff on Instagram doesn't really grab me. Yes, of course I'll show you my new book cover, or someone else's lovely book cover - possibly even a few photos of a book launch with friends. But generally I'd rather show you a picture of the moon rising over Glastonbury tor, or the badger in the garden, and occasionally my family behaving like twats. Basically, I'll never be an 'influencer' and don't even follow any...

Facebook? Still popular and used by a lot of writers, but I've still never managed to work out the algorithms on my author account (probably because I don't pay to advertise) - the only real plus is occasionally gossiping in closed facebook groups with other writers, and Messenger, which is great for chats with family and friends. Maybe I'm just too wary of Zuckerberg's metaverse. Apparently it works well for online publishers promoting digital book sales, but self promotion? Erk! *shudders *

So full circle, back to Twitter. At the moment, I'm still there. It's a good way to find out what's going on, whether you like it or not. However, it's far more toxic than it used to be, even for writers. In the past I've made real life friends via twitter, but these days it's best to be careful what you say. Sadly, the writer world is currently busy fighting over trans rights, of all things. Never mind that the world could end soon because of climate change or potential nuclear war... Anyway, if you avoid engaging with any of the crazy, it's still ok...for now. But if it implodes completely, hopefully someone will come up with somewhere else to hang out, otherwise I'll be writing in the void. 

To be honest, it feels like that most days anyway...

Lu Hersey

Twitter: LuWrites

Facebook: Lu Hersey

Instagram: luwrites

TikTok: LuWritesBooks

Mastadon: I have absolutely no idea...

Invisible boundaries and social media - C.J. Busby

A few weeks ago, a young American first-time author, Kathleen Hale, unleashed a bit of a social media storm by publishing a piece in The Guardian about the increasingly vexed online relationship between authors and bloggers. The article (here) which ran in the Saturday magazine, detailed how she became obsessed by one of her online critics, a blogger called Blythe Harris. When Hale engaged with Blythe's criticism's of her book (despite the many, many warnings she received that authors should not answer back to bad reviews), Blythe and many of her fellow bloggers apparently turned on her and Hale found herself labelled a BBA - a badly behaved author. For Hale (and I should emphasise that we only get Hale's perspective on what happened here), Blythe was wilfully malicious, ruining the reception of her book, and using her clique of friends and fellow bloggers to trash Hale's reputation. In return, Hale details her own increasing obsession with Blythe - an obsession which rapidly moved from what she termed 'light stalking' (gathering any and every detail she could from Blythe's online presence) to what by any standards is just plain stalking - using subterfuge to gain access to Blythe's real-life identity, workplace address and home address.

It's a sorry tale, and I'm not going to rehash the Hale case here, but it did make me think about the business of social media, writers, bloggers and boundaries. Authors, as Hale notes, are encouraged to get online and have a social media presence, but their natural audience, book bloggers and fans, seem quite often to resent authors turning up on their turf and, as they see it, throwing their weight around. A while ago, as a bit of a newbie author, I brushed up against a similar controversy when I noticed an online discussion on a book blogger's site about one of Ben Aaronovitch's Rivers of London series.

I'm a bit of a fan of this series, and was interested to see that the author had stopped by and commented, explaining where some of the features the blogger was discussing had come from in the writing process. It was (I thought) a perfectly polite contribution, and not in the least critical of her analysis, simply adding a bit of background information. But it caused an immediate storm, in which I was very slightly caught up, having added a comment of my own about the strange ways the writing process worked. For some of the following commentators, writers were simply not welcome on a book blogging site - they were guilty of abusing the power they had as authors to dominate a space that was not for them. Book blogs and fan sites should be considered a space for fans and book lovers to freely express themselves and not somewhere authors should feel free to gatecrash.

It was all resolved fairly amicably - Ben Aaronovitch backed down with a bit of grumbling, and I apologised profusely for being new to all this and not understanding the rules of the game. But the Hale article did bring this experience back to me.

What both examples make clear, I think, is that engaging in discussion with other people on social media is now the easiest thing in the world to do, but that it's also potentially perilous - what seems to be a simple opening gambit in a conversation can quickly become a reason for several people you've never met to decide they hate you. And thinking about why this is, made me realise that it's partly about the lack of social clues we have online.

Picture this: an author walks into a cafe, orders a coffee, and then realises that at the table next to him are six women, clearly friends, all discussing why they don't really like his new book. He would have to be completely mad or utterly self-obsessed to lean across and say, "Excuse me, ladies, that point you've just made is very interesting, but as the author, I'd have to say you've misunderstood my intention...." More likely, he'd hide behind a newspaper, or slink out. It's not his place to push into a group which is clearly bounded by longstanding interactions and mutual exchange of opinions. On the web, though, it's hard to see those boundaries, easier to think this is a discussion open to anyone who happens to wander past.

We've probably all had the experience of adding comments on a forum discussion, only to have what we've said utterly ignored as the next commentator simply replies to the one before you, and the next one carries on as if you never said anything. It feels like a snub (it is a snub) - but if this were real life, the group discussing this burning issue would be that bunch of students who always occupy the table in the corner of the canteen, looking daggers at anyone who even thinks about sitting next to them - and we wouldn't be in the least surprised if they ignored our comment. (We'd almost certainly never make it in the first place.)

Would you interrupt the conversation?

As social animals, we have built up over generations the ability to detect the smallest social clues about other people and groups around us. The kinds of interaction we engage in with other people are largely determined by our previous interactions with them, their status as friends or family or work colleagues. Even with total strangers we can use visible clues like dress, body language, expression, context, to judge what is or isn't appropriate. All these help us to 'see' the boundaries that we would be transgressing and the trouble we could be causing if we were to be, for example, inappropriately intimate or aggressive or opinionated.

The trouble with social media is these clues are just not there. We've only had access to this multitude of potential conversations with strangers  for a very short time, and people appear on it as little more than speech. Speech which is devoid of accents, of voice, of clues about who this person is. It's like wandering in a dark fog, listening to many voices all talking at random - but the people behind the voices are invisible. So we have to make guesses about what kinds of people they are, and whether we are gatecrashing through an invisible boundary, or striking up a conversation with someone genuinely interested in talking to us.

Those speaking to each other on a forum, a blog, on Goodreads, can appear as simply a bunch of individuals interested in the same topic, a bunch of reasonable, open individuals who would welcome a newcomer to their midst. Sometimes that is exactly what they are. But sometimes, the invisible boundaries are as fierce as barbed wire, and we cross them at our peril.

The way invisible boundaries are so difficult to negotiate sometimes makes me want to give up on all forms of online interaction. Like Liz Kessler, who posted recently about social media on ABBA (here), I have considered just ditching all of it in favour of interactions in real life only. But, in the end, I don't, because so far I've managed to negotiate those boundaries more or less unscathed, and in the process I've 'met' some really brilliant people (some of whom I've gone on to really meet).

The fact is, most people on social media ARE open, engaged, reasonable and friendly, and, if you transgress an invisible boundary, they are usually polite enough to just inform you gently that you're in the wrong place. But I do think it's important to be aware that just because those boundaries are invisible, doesn't mean they are not there - and when you find a clear notice that says "Authors (or whoever) are Not Welcome Beyond this Point", it probably pays to respect it.

C.J. Busby writes funny, fast-paced fantasy for children aged 7-12. Her latest books, Dragon Amber, is published by Templar.

www.cjbusby.co.uk

@ceciliabusby

The F Word - Anna Wilson

Fellow Sassie, Fiona Dunbar, recently posted the following question on Facebook:

“To all my friends who write for kids/young teens (particularly girls): do you feel enough is being done in fiction to address fat/thin stereotypes? With all the cultural pressure to conform to certain ideals, is it our responsibility to counter that – and if so, how? *Can* it be done?”

I quickly became engrossed in reading all the comments that were posted under Fiona’s question. I had more than a passing interest for, as well as being a children’s writer, I have two young teenage children of my own who are becoming more and more aware of what society is saying to them. My daughter, in particular, seems to equate “skinny” with “perfection”.

The Facebook debate did, however, remind me that I had once been found guilty of describing a character as a “big fat greedy wotsit”. I remember thinking at the time that it had not occurred to me for an instant that what I had written would be offensive, because the words were spoken by a seven-year-old character in that careless, thoughtless way that children sometimes do speak.

I did, however, edit the comment once it was pointed out to me that if you are a child struggling with eating disorders (which sadly affect children at a much earlier stage in life than they used to) then seeing the word “fat” used in a negative context can be very damaging, as it reinforces the stereotype that “fat” equals “greedy” or “lazy” or “unattractive” or just plain “bad”.

It was pointed out in the Facebook feed that we have, in fact, come a long way and that “we are better than we used to be”. Lord of the Flies was quoted as an example of how not to stereotype large children. I decided to go back and re-read a section of Lord of the Flies, thinking that I would surely not find it offensive, telling myself that the book is a product of a particular time and the characters who gang up on Piggy are hardly portrayed as heroes. However, I have to admit that reading the story again after a 25-year gap, Golding’s descriptions of Piggy did make me squirm:

“The naked crooks of his knees were plump . . . He was shorter than the fair boy and very fat . . .

‘Can’t catch me breath. I was the only boy at our school what had asthma,’ said the fat boy with a touch of pride. ‘And I’ve been wearing specs since I was three.’”

He is referred to as “the fat boy” until he admits that his nickname was “Piggy” and that is the name that sticks for the rest of the book. We never find out his real name. There is no doubt that the fact he is fat and wears glasses equates to him being unappealing and weak.

There is much debate at the moment as to what extent we in children’s publishing should be the “guardians at the gate” on various topics, including that of body image. Should we watch what we write, or does this restrict our creativity? Is the story the thing, or do we have a responsibility? Many publishers increasingly feel that we do. We publish our books under the clear imprimatur of “children’s publishing”, and that in itself says something important: that children are clearly looking for and need something different from adults. Otherwise, why bother separating the two markets?

Children are vulnerable and impressionable, we know that. As a parent I am constantly worrying about and trying to monitor what they watch on television, see on the internet and in video games, so should it come as any surprise that books, and the words in those books, need to be chosen carefully too?

Or are we going too far when we start to worry about editing our characters’ thoughts, appearances and dialogue? Is it in fact ridiculous to load such a simple three-letter word so heavily with negative connotations, thereby driving it into the arena of “issues”? As Caitlin Moran says in How To Be A Woman:

“In the last two generations, [‘fat’ has] become a furiously overloaded word – in a conversation, when the word ‘fat’ appears, it often alarms people, like a siren going off.’

So is the answer to avoid the issue of body image altogether in our writing? In Fiona’s Facebook conversation, writer Dawn Finch commented, “I try not to include any physical description unless it’s genuinely important to the plot.” She said that she likes to leave it to the reader to decide how the characters look based on how other characters respond to them. It is true that there can be nothing more irritating than being told someone is attractive or ugly because they are fat/thin/blond/tall/blue-eyed. (I recently read Michael Frayn’s Skios and found it incredibly annoying to be repeatedly told that the lead romantic male role was gorgeous and had blue eyes and “floppy blond hair”. Personally that immediately put me in mind of Boris Johnson, so from that moment on I was certainly not going to imagine him as attractive, I’m afraid.)

Inbali Iserles, another Sassie, said that “making it an issue is not a good thing”, while writer Sophia Bennett pointed out that even when books are addressing particular stereotypes, the covers rarely do anything to back this up, and in some cases actively do the opposite. She quoted Cathy Cassidy’s Ginger Snaps and Chris Higgins’ A Perfect 10 as examples of books whose covers perhaps even belie the content.

So what to do? Maybe we should at least not make “skinny” the default position for the beautiful and popular. If we are writing a romance, for example, should we go out of our way to make the romantic lead a larger person? If so, how do we do this without it “becoming an issue” as Inbali warns us against doing? And if we do all this, what about the book jackets? Maybe this, in fact, is where the redressing of the balance should start.

(With thanks to Fiona for letting me borrow her FB question!)

Anna Wilson

www.annawilson.co.uk