I resisted Twitter for a long time. First of all, I’ve never been an early adopter. I like to wait until the dust settles with anything, be it my iPhone (I have the 5, but only because my 4 died) or the latest book. (The Fault in Our Stars has been sitting unread on my nightstand since they announced they were making a movie of it because I’m grumpy about all the bandwagon John Green fans. You didn’t discover him, okay? I’ve been reading him since 2006!)
Second of all. I associated it with celebrity twits (see what I did there?) who assume we want to know their every move. I honestly give zero fucks about Scott Disick, for example. Pretty sure that douchebag tweets, though.
Besides, I never really had anything that important to say to the general public. And if I did, I sure as hell couldn’t be brief about it. 140 characters ain’t much, and I’m pretty verbose.
When I published my first book, though, and started eyeballing everyone else’s promotions, I realized what a genius marketing tool Twitter is. Authors can plug their books with a few words and a tantalizing image, leaving behind both the dreaded synopsis and any weird braggy-pants stuff you have to do to get people to want to click your shit. It’s genius. You can put it out again and again, too. That’s how Twitter works. You can literally post the same Tweet all day and that’s perfectly acceptable. Very useful for, say, promoting your new book or upcoming event.
Don’t get me wrong. It isn’t all business. You know what women want to hear from other women? Here’s a hot picture of David Gandy wearing only a dish towel. Or Boom, Michael Fassbender lifted his sunglasses and you are now pregnant. Or What does Stu Reardon wear under his kilt? (Yes. That’s right. He wears only nature’s bounty.)
Sometimes I use it to say hello to my far-flung peeps.
Sometimes I throw puns out into the universe just because.
I’m on it daily. Maybe too much. Or maybe just the right amount. Depends who you’re asking. The teenagers in my life are duly impressed, not that they know my super-secret, deep cover author identity, because they’ve seen the little bird on my phone screen. They don’t seem to think I’m on it too much, but maybe that’s because teenagers no longer make eye contact with anyone or anything but their own tiny screens.
And I know it’s likely to be replaced at some point, leaving me in the dust clutching to a few faithful followers who just really want their #gandygram, but for now it works. For now, Twitter and I each have half of a heart-shaped charm.