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).
“We are what we pretend to be, so we must be careful about what we pretend to be.” – Kurt Vonnegut
In his novel, Mother Night, the satirical giant warns his readers against spending too much time in a dream. The dream, these days, is of course the Internet. In the age of Instagram fame, we should all be careful what we wish for, in the metaphorical sense. I am sure that Orange County native Yaritza Hernandez did not wish to lose her life, but she did seek out fame.