Hi everyone!
Lately, I’ve been musing on Twitter. (As in, “musing on the topic of Twitter”, rather than “musing via the medium of Twitter”, though I’ve also been doing that too, of course).
Now, I had thoughts. I had lots of thoughts.
It started, a week or so ago, when ‘Enid Blyton’ began trending. English Heritage, who are responsible for the blue plaques affixed to buildings in which people of repute had lived (or died, or been born, or whatever), though leaving her plaque unchanged, had decided to acknowledge Blyton’s “racism, xenophobia and lack of literary merit” in the associated website entry. The reaction, at least on social media, was almost tiresomely predictable. Two camps emerged, one screaming that ‘cancel culture’ had gone too far, that the beloved author of ‘The Magic Faraway Tree’, the ‘Famous Five’ and ‘Secret Seven’ books, etc. etc. should be left alone, that she had introduced literally millions of children to the pleasures of reading, and how dare the ‘woke left’ come for her? The other, of course, pointed to her unquestionably suspect views on issues like race, sexism and so on, and said that she should be cancelled, her plaque removed and the books burnt (presumably). In short, she should never be spoken of again. Goodbye and good riddance.
Now, I had thoughts. I had lots of thoughts. But I spent a bit of time, and I boiled them down to this.
I completely stand by that (of course), and I quite deliberately didn't express what my take on the whole issue was. But, aside from engaging in the discussion that arose from my tweet, I left it at that. I posted my tweet and then walked away.
Now, though, I’m wondering why I did that. Why I left it there. And I think I blame Twitter.
Don’t get me wrong. I love Twitter, I love interacting with readers and writers from all over the world. I’ve had lots of lovely chats and made some good friends on there, plus for me it’s become the equivalent of the ‘water cooler’ at my old job in the hospital (or, more realistically, the kettle) around which chats were had, news exchanged, colleague’s lives caught up with. Yes, it can be a cesspit, but through judicious use of the ‘mute’ button I find it, on the whole, to be a lovely place to hang out.
‘Can you boil that down to 280 characters, including spaces?’
But I’m now also thinking that perhaps it’s encouraging me to think lazily. Nowadays, a thought occurs, triggered by the news or something I’m reading perhaps. I’ll ponder it for a while, examining it from different angles, trying to see both sides of the argument, or the good and bad at least. I’ll decide what my take is, and usually even begin forming sentences in my head (because that’s just what my mind does). But then my brain goes ‘Can you boil that down to 280 characters, including spaces?’ And if the answer is yes, I’ll (probably) tweet something.
But if the answer’s no? Then, it’s likely I’ll just move on. I won’t write anything, even in my notebook, let alone elsewhere, somewhere where my thoughts will be public. And that’s a shame. Not because the world is being denied my opinion on Enid Blyton (or the new series of Love Island, or broccoli, or whatever) - that’s not what I’m saying at all. AT ALL. It’s a shame because I can feel myself becoming de-skilled. The more efficient the ‘IS THAT A TWEET?’ synapses get, the less likely I am to stop, and pause, and take a moment to really get to the bottom of something. I’ve often said I don’t always know what I feel about something until I write about it. And 280 characters isn’t enough to really dig into anything.
Almost like designing the packaging before you’ve even really decided what the product is.
So what’s the answer? I’m not sure. And you know what, if you’ll indulge me, I’m not going to try to come up with one. I think one of the reasons I don’t often start putting my thoughts in writing is because I tend to look at what it might ‘be’. A blog post? Something for the newsletter? Something that I might want to develop into a novel or story idea? And that then takes primacy. ‘What it is’ (or might be) becomes almost more important than the thoughts themselves. Almost like designing the packaging before you’ve even really decided what the product is.
So I’m not going to do that. I’m going to allow myself the luxury of not ending this with some grand declaration or solemn promise. This isn’t a manifesto. These are just some thoughts, and — you know what? — I enjoyed writing them.
I hope you enjoyed reading them, a little bit at least. Let me know, if you like. There may be more.