So, hey. I talked about this on (ironically) my social media some months back, but I have long been planning to nuke my professional social media presence once I launched Stonelands. I pushed that date to the right as launch neared, because Worldcon was coming up, as was the launch party. Now, it’s done.
I’m going to run down a list of reasons you, especially as an author, should pull the plug.
1.) Social media is the new smoking.
Ten years from now–perhaps sooner–we’ll look back on social media the way we now look back on cigarettes. Lethally bad for you, initially promulgated by lies about the benefits, and eventually only partaken of by people who want to look cool at the expense of their health, or who suffer from addiction. I could be wrong about this, but I’m not. Bookmark this page and set a reminder on your calendar for 2035. You’ll see.
2.) Social media steals your art.
I’m not talking solely about AI–though the major social media platforms retain the right to use your messages for whatever they want, so part of this is definitely Fuck the Clankers. Also, though, I have found that I’ve been writing less and less as I got further and further online. One big reason for this is that, ten years ago, when I thought of something funny or prescient to say, I’d find a way to work it into the book I was writing, or stash it away in a journal or series bible for future use. With social media, you just puke it out into the universe so that a handful of people can press Like.
Fuck. That.
Save your brainpower. Don’t work for free.
3.) Social media presence doesn’t generate sales.
Fight me on this one. I’ve been on Social Media since AOL. In that time, I’ve had a few posts go semi-viral (>1,000 likes), and one go legitimately viral (>50,000 likes). The latter generated a total of two sales. In the past ten years that I’ve been writing professionally, my social media posts have netted me $15.
It’s different if you’re an influencer, if this is your job and you’re great at it with milions of followers. I have no interest in becoming one. In the meantime, it’s idiotic to expend brain matter in an attempt to sell something that nobody in the target audience is interested in buying–or, more to the point, have already bought more often than not. Most of my followers are readers. I’m lucky that I have thousands.
I’m in an extremely fortunate position right now, as Stonelands broke even this week. When this month’s receipts come in, I’ll have made back everything I’ve put into it. This is important because, at this point, I don’t need more sales. If they happen, great.
The flip side of this is that most indie authors don’t put nearly as much money into their production as I do: dev, line, copy, sensitivity readers, multiple proofreads, interior formatting, pro cover, publicists. It can run close to five figures to get a professional novel out the door at Big Five standards. Breaking even when you’ve only got a hundred bucks into a project is an entirely different matter–and frankly, shouldn’t matter. It’s not worth the stress. Stick with me.
4.) Douse the trash fire in your head.
The first few minutes after I nuked my last public social media account, I commented to Best Beloved how quiet it suddenly was. There was no way for me to jump back in on the dozens of conversations I’d been part of; it was as if fifty of the voices in my head just shut the hell up. Immediately. Like slamming a vault shut with your anxiety inside.
It’s been 24 hours and I can’t remember what anyone was talking about. I can’t recall a single thread. It’s just crowd noise in my memory. I’m sure I could parse some things out if I wanted to, but I really have no interest in it.
5.) Real friends will find you anyway.
Self-explanatory. I still have this website. My actual friends have my phone number and email.
If people matter in your life, they’ll reach out. If they don’t, fuck ’em.
6.) Remember from whence you came.
This concept of instantaneous response to literally any piece of shit noise inbound to your personal space is extremely new. And it’s sooooooo bad for you.
I initially resisted getting a cell phone as long as I could. This was back in the days when Fred Flintstone had to hand-crank his parrot, but still. I believed–and I still do; perhaps more now than I did before–that the value of my time is directly proportional to how tricky it is to get ahold of me.
If any random asshole can text you, or mention you on some bullshit backwater website, and take away your time for free for something that literally isn’t doing you any financial or psychological good, and get a response in seconds, your time ain’t worth shit. People who don’t matter to you expecting you to jump to attention and respond to their niggling little bullshit is ridiculous. And it’s killing you.
In addition to killing my social media, I’ve set my phone to Do Not Disturb with only a handful of numbers allowed to contact me–people who legitimately deserve a prompt response: family/found family, my agent, bandleaders with gig information, the team working on the screenplay for Stonelands, etc.
If people develop anxiety over my response times, it’s not my problem. I recommend they learn to do the same.
I’ll be here if you need me.
