As an author, in order to sell books, among other things, I have a responsibility to be on multiple social media platforms every day. That doesn’t mean, though, that I like to. The responsibility is just that: a responsibility, like doing the dishes, or going to work, neither of which I necessarily want to do. I’m not on nearly enough of the various platforms as consistently as I need to be, but there are so many that I can’t keep up. But I am active on the sites that anyone who hasn’t been living under a rock for the last twenty years would recognize by name, unfortunately. Truthfully, I don’t like how Facebook encourages its users to argue with each other with the reply feature and tagging feature (why not tag your friends to fight your argument for you?!). Twitter is not a great place to make genuine connections anymore, with the hundreds of auto direct messages I get and the link dump on my feed and even on my notifications (some authors think it’s acceptable to mention me with their book links and blog posts without asking me first).
And then there is Instagram.
If you looked at my Instagram feed, you’d see a bunch of young people posting the most stunning photos of novels, a few vapes (though I’ve unfollowed most of them due to the environment of the industry, but that’s another article entirely, or five), and dogs. A LOT of dogs.