I’ll be honest, I’m a little nervous about sharing this one. People understandably have strong opinions on how they ‘should’ be acting online at the moment, so there’s a good chance I’ll put a few hackles up.
But this isn’t me telling anyone what to do, partly because it’s none of my business and partly because I don’t think there is a right answer anyway. This is just me trying to explore a difficult issue and talk through my imperfect choices in the hope it’ll perhaps help others who might be floundering find their way to their own decisions.
So this is something that’s been on my mind more or less constantly for years, but perhaps louder than ever over the last brutal, terrible few months. The world is full of tragedy and heartbreak and unending fury, and it can feel both frivolous and callous to celebrate, promote or even just casually chat online about bookish things. For most authors though, promoting ourselves and our books online is an inescapable part of publishing life. So how do we reconcile this?
How can we stand to talk about normal things in the face of catastrophe? Are we providing precious escapism? Does it help to talk about the bad stuff or are we just shouting into a bubble &/or getting ourselves muted? Like I said, I don’t pretend to have answers, and while I do think literary institutions have a responsibility to speak up when writers are being murdered, I don’t think there is one right approach for individuals. But it is worth thinking about our online activity in the face of calamities, and making conscious choices about how we act rather than ignore it out of discomfort and overwhelm.
For what little it’s worth then, these are my thoughts on this difficult issue. I’d love to hear yours.
The question of voice
This is me refusing to use the word ‘brand’ lol. The question at the foundation of this whole internal debate is - what is my identity as a writer, and as a writer online? I have an incredibly small platform so it’s not like my voice is particularly loud, important or unique, but I think there’s one vital element to my writer identity that I cannot set aside: The fact that I write fiction influenced partly by political themes such as climate change, gender based violence, marginalised voices & post-colonialism (particularly in environmentalism).
This means I explore issues on the page that are unfolding, often violently, in the real world. It means, effectively, that I am profiting (lol, my bank account disagrees) off being a politically aware author.
(Side note: I firmly believe all fiction is inherently political. If you don’t think so, it’s because the politics in the book match the assumed defaults in the society you inhabit, so it becomes invisible to you. But that’s a whole other post!)
The point here is that I explore, albeit tangentially, real world issues in my fiction and would like to think of myself as someone striving to be thoughtful and engaged on these subjects.
For me - and this is just my take - I need to both talk the talk and walk the walk on my politics. It is not enough for me to go ‘eh, my politics are in my books, that’s all I need to say’. Perhaps this is because my existence lies outside the dominant paradigm so politics doesn’t ever get to be invisible to me and I don’t have the privilege to remain removed. Perhaps it’s because I firmly believe that silence is complicity.
Either way, online activity doesn’t equate to walking the walk, right? You can be super engaged in activism or politics whilst being silent online. You can also be sharing and shouting about things online but doing absolutely nothing away from the keyboard to live by the things you say.
So how does my desire to walk the walk of the politics I monetise via my fiction, translate to my online identity?
Well, hmm, I’m not sure. But here’s where I am at the moment…
The matter of platforms
The first thing to note is how political activism and information sharing isn’t spread evenly across social media platforms. Whether that’s because of censoring, limited sign-up, or wierd algorthims. Or it might be because your circles on different platforms vary. Whatever it is, I’ve noticed that the vast majority of political activism & direct reporting happens on my Twitter. There is a rising tide of climate comms on Bluesky, but very little of anything in my feeds elsewhere. I know a lot of political activism does happen elsewhere but my limited activity has restricted my contact with it.
So what does this mean for me? Basically it means that Twitter is my main platform for following important voices, and interacting with political movements & socially active followers. Where-as my other platforms tend to be a) quieter and b) more exclusively book focussed.
Making space
Over the last however many years of being on Twitter, my feed has probably been a 70:30 split of all bookish things, and science/nature/politics. For my particular ‘brand’ (shudder), that’s felt about right. Since the start of Israel’s latest genocidal campaign against Palestinians though, it has felt more important for me to make space on Twitter for Palestinian voices or calls for activism. My timeline has been a jarring mix of brutal reality and shiny book post chatter and I have wanted to reduce my own contribution to the chatter and, as my voice isn’t particularly relevant to this issue, instead quietly boost more important voices. So recently, my twitter activity is probably 80:20 supporting other voices versus the occasional quick bookish post.
On other platforms (primarily Bluesky as that’s the only other one I’m regularly active on), my approach has been different. Although I have shared a few political posts - specific fund raising or activism opportunities I think my follower base might engage with - I have stuck largely to bookish content there.
Will being less chatty on Twitter lose me some book sales or at least bookish visibility? Maybe. Given it’s not my only platform, does that matter? No, not enough to outweigh the tiny, tiny good my making space might do.
What to post
Regarding the genocide in Palestine, like I mention above, my voice isn’t relevant except as part of a groundswell of protest. I am also not comfortable sharing graphic images however much I understand the reasons for doing so. So I have focussed my activity on calls for activism (such as recently, reminders to vote in the upcoming Extraordinary General Meeting of the Society of Authors), sharing the work of Palestinian poets & writers, and just … listening. Bearing witness; letting people know I am not turning away.
On other subjects - perhaps climate change or disability representation - my voice matters more, I’m coming from a place of some expertise. So on those issues, I feel more comfortable giving my own opinions and taking up that space.
There is also generally less urgency to other issues, or at least less absolute reliance on social media by at-risk people reporting on unfolding crises. So taking up more space with bookish chatter feels less like talking over people.
Tone and performative tears
One of the things I find hardest to judge is the tone to use when posting issues-based content. While it might sometimes be important to state clearly how you feel about X issue, these kinds of posts can often look like little more than performative tears - you’re centering your own distress, you’re saying this one thing so you can go back to bookish posts guilt-free, you’re taking up space to earn social credit rather than boosting more relevant voices.
I … do not like performative tears. I can see right through it when it’s issues I am directly affected by, so I’m fairly sure it’s equally transparent to others in other situations.
Honestly, my distress isn’t that important. It’s more useful for me to ask people to sign a petition or donate to e-sims than it is to say how upset I am. I think the closest I’ve got recently was when I was shortlisted for a book award with Mother Sea - I said something along the lines of: This book explores post-colonialism so I can’t celebrate its success without acknowledging the present horrors of colonialism in Palestine & the culpability of Britain in this genocide. #FreePalestine.
Vajra Chandrasekera has done much the same, more eloquently, with pretty much each of the many awards listings for his novel The Saint Of Bright Doors. It feels like a good way to use the temporary platform of the award nom for something greater than yourself.
But how about tone in other posts? Twitter has become such a focal point for me to listen to Palestinian voices that it feels very odd to post anything that’s just pure bookish funtimes. I know not everyone’s TLs are the same as mine, so it’s probably less jarring than it feels, but still. Ick. So what I appear to have shifted towards is briefly and genuinely boosting friends’ successes, announcing important news for my own books, and saving all my more idle chatter posts for Bluesky.
Being the small voice
Does any of this matter though? Who is really going to notice or care what one small-time author is saying, or not saying, on one social media platform?
Very few folk, it’s true.
So why tie myself in knots trying to get this balance right?
Being a small time author, I don’t really have the liberty of stepping away from social media entirely. I’ve cut down for spoons reasons, but can’t afford to disengage, not because I’m out here selling books but because being small makes being part of a community all the more important. Vital even. And much of my wider community is on Twitter, or Bluesky, or where-ever - the reviewers who’ve supported me, the spoonie community who’ve motivated me, the editors and writers and readers whose perspectives educate me.
So given I’m active online, I need to do so in a way I am comfortable with - that doesn’t feel like silence as complicity, doesn’t feel like profiting from issues I won’t fight for.
Perhaps my online ‘activism’ (it feels too small for that label to be honest, perhaps just ‘voice’) does no good at all. But perhaps one person sees their visibility rise and feels comforted, or another person signs that petition, or votes in that EGM, or attends that march. I’ll never know. All I can know is that I’d rather make space than speak over; be one more small voice than be silent.
There’s still no right answer
I have friends who never stray into political issues online. I have other friends who have done almost no self-promo in the last few months, saving all their online activity for Palestine. I can understand both those positions, because like I said above, just because someone is silent about something on Twitter doesn’t mean they aren’t boycotting, donating, marching, voting, interceding, recycling, divesting, going vegetarian etc.
Part of me wants to do a lot of shouting online some days - about how we are just ignoring climate change because the 1% have told us to ignore it so they can get richer. About how if you’d all just stop eating beef - not even all meat, just beef alone dammit it’s not hard - we’d be so much closer to a livable planet. About how children’s lives matter more than anything and how dare we hide from our culpability in their murder?
But much as that might make me feel fleetingly better, it wouldn’t actually do any good, would it? So I’ll save my rage for my characters - let them sear a pathway through their hurts, for Twitter I’ll try to keep balancing my morals in this imperfect way.
Thank you for reading. If you’ve got this far, I imagine it’s because you’ve agonised over this too and if that’s the case, thank you - for listening and for wanting to use whatever platform you have for good, for worrying about this stuff even when it’s easier to just scroll on by. I have been moved to tears by the collective beauty of the writing world on Twitter in the last few months - the way the esims campaign reconnected reporters in Gaza, the way Refaat Alareer’s words travelled around the world through languages and writers and white kites above marching crowds. Words have power, how lucky we are that we get to use them.
I think it’ll be about time for a Ghosts Diary update soon, and I’m percolating posts introducing you to the tangled web of the novella I’ve just finished drafting, talking about burnout, and about how to start running writing workshops. No idea which one of these I’ll finish first, so stay tuned to find out!