It’s funny being a writer. There is a huge desire to be seen and also a great fear of being seen. All writers are like this, as perhaps all people are. It’s like having two opposing needs at war within you, driving you with one foot on the gas and the other on the brake.
I want people to read my books, of course. That is why we write them. And so much of ourselves come out in the process, that we don’t plan on. Peak a boo!
And then add the whole social media shenanigans on top of it all. I wonder if Hemingway or Charles Dickens would have had a Facebook or Twitter account. (Not that I put myself in their august company…)
What would Hemingway Tweet about?
“It’s another sunny day here in Key West! I wrote nothing at all, but there is always tomorrow.” #writingwithcats #drinkingwhiskey
Social media is an entire different level of reveal- a sort of virtual striptease that goes very contrary to my nature. But it’s part of the package, the platform, the very way we “put ourselves out there.” Publishers require it.
How do I deal with the vulnerability that is inherent in that process? I understand why writers become hermits. We give it all up in the pages of our work and then hide so no one can see us at the supermarket.
Just the other day someone came up to me at Whole Foods and said “Omg! I know you because I read your blog, I feel like I know everything about you! But you don’t know me. Wow that must be weird.” She gave me a once over. Gym clothes, no make-up and bad hair and all. Too much chocolate and junk food in my shopping carriage. “You don’t look at all like your picture,” she said. “And you really eat that stuff? I guess you must be human after all…”
I slunk away to hide among the veg in the produce section until the coast was clear. Human after all.
And yet, here I am, up at 5am and writing my head off. I can’t seem to help it. Painters paint. Writers write. I am what I am. But if you see me in Whole Foods, be kind, ok?
