It’s kind of ironic that I’m writing a blog post about unplugging from social media, as it’s a form of social media. Plus, I’ve sent more tweets tonight than I have in two weeks, but that’s neither here nor there.
The point is this: over the last few weeks, I found that social media was doing me more harm than good, so I decided to back off of it for a bit. I think after five years on social media almost every day, I’m suffering from too much of a good thing.
Why? Well, some of it is the place I’m at in my life right now. The main thing is that my priorities need to be elsewhere. I’m also finding that some of my online friendships have turned from uplifting to toxic, so I need to take a break until I can see those people from a healthier perspective.
Plus, there’s always drama. Twitter seems to have a rant of the day, Facebook can be populated by people spouting off without knowing all the facts, and everyone has an opinion on the Amazon/Hachette dispute, which doesn’t even affect me. I don’t need that. Life has enough drama in it without hunting it down online.
So to avoid a mental meltdown but still stay active, I’m sticking to blogs, Pinterest and watching my basic Twitter lists: my agent/agency, local writers, and famous authors. That’s it. I’m even staying quiet with Team Awesome (which includes many of my fellow Spellbound Scribes) until I get my head on straight. It’s nothing personal, but it is for everyone’s benefit.
Sometimes we all need a break, that’s true for social media as much as it is for anything else. While it’s a great suite of tools for reaching/building an audience and interacting with other writers, it can also be a distraction and source of irritation. I, for one, would rather maintain a more limited positive presence online than have you see my nerves get frayed or the unguarded moments when I can’t control my (sometimes negative) opinions.
So if you’re wondering why you haven’t seen me as much, that’s why. I’ll be back, but I need some time to just be a writer, without the constant streams of articles on what I should or shouldn’t do to be successful or the relentless “look, I’m wonderful, now buy my book” tweets and posts. I need time to focus on me, my research and writing, on my life outside of the world wide web. Then, I’ll be in a better place when I am back full-steam ahead. But I wanted to be open and honest about it, rather than hide in the shadows.
Have you ever had a time when social media just got to be too much? How did you deal? Do you think it’s a good thing or a bad thing to admit when you’ve had enough?
“You can’t be a Trekkie if you’ve only watched TNG onward.”
“Oh, you like comics? Well, who was Superman’s nemesis in the third issue following Lex Luthor’s rise to prominence?”
“That’s not what Damon actually said in season four episode eight. Bejeebus, did you even watch the episode?”
Every so often in fandom, someone will card you.
Not your driver’s license — your Geek Cred Card. And if you get asked something or called out on not knowing a thing, sometimes it’ll leave you sweating bullets and questioning the state of your underoos.
And it rankles me.
Being a geek to me isn’t about what you love or how verbatim-y you can get when someone asks you to rattle something off. Being a geek is about loving a thing.
That’s it. I might take pride in being able to name just about any Buffy episode if you tell me a few snippets of the plot. It might thrill me to be able to tell you definitively that there are no demons in my apartment, car, or dog because I’ve memorized the long exorcism from season two of Supernatural. But I’m not going to ever tell you that you’re not as big a Buffy fan as I am or that you don’t love the Winchesters as much as I do if you can’t do those things.
Earlier this week, I read an article by a woman who was sharing her experience about cosplaying in a screen-accurate Star Trek uniform from The Original Series. Not only did she get concern-trolled like mad about the length of her skirt — to the point that she felt so uncomfortable by the large number of comments that she changed — but she’s had heaps of people come up and quiz her. Random trivia. Little snippets of fact from within the story of Star Trek and without.
I thought to myself, “Why does anyone think that’s necessary?”
In short, she’s been carded. And presented with the No True Geek logical fallacy. In case you’re unfamiliar, there’s a common logical fallacy known as the “No True Scotsman” fallacy. It’s saying, “Oh, no true Scotsman prefers vodka to scotch.” Or “No true Scotsman would agree with the conservative party in Westminster.” It’s a way to Other someone, to prove to oneself that they don’t belong in your club.
When it comes to geekdom, it happens a lot. When it’s friends bantering and discussing a mutual Loved Thing, that’s one thing. When it’s a stranger using tricksy, Gollum-worthy questions to embarrass and humiliate, that’s something else altogether.
It’s like saying the person who spends two hours a day playing Bejeweled Blitz and Simpsons Tapped out isn’t a real gamer because no true gamer would play those games. Ultimately, the No True Geek fallacy is harmful because it is a mindset that forces the masses of unique, snowflake-y humanoids inhabiting geekdom to constrain their loving of things to one limited ideal of what that ought to look like.
The same can go for fantasy or science fiction — recently female authors have been fighting the inane idea that true sci-fi would never have romance (inane because those making that argument clearly missed Han and Leia’s courtship along with Spock and Uhura and heaps of other stellar — get it?! Stellar? — romances written by males).
To Other someone: to boot them out of a club you feel you’ve staked your claim on with a crayon-scrawled sign.
Another example is that good-looking people can’t be geeks. The argument that no true geek is good-looking because good-looking people wouldn’t have experienced the ostracism and angst of adolescence getting bullied or picked on for their looks. I read that one in a couple different comments tonight.
I consider myself to be a good-looking person. No one’s run screaming from me in years. But just because I don’t make babies cry now doesn’t mean I didn’t spend my adolescence absolutely miserable. I had horrific cystic acne that started when I was eight. I had grossly misaligned teeth followed by three years of painful, shiny, obvious orthodontia. I blushed easily. I was ridiculed and made fun of constantly. I was not, by anyone’s standards, an attractive teen-thing.
Saying no true geek can be attractive is a logical fallacy. It’s another way of Othering someone.
And that’s not what geekery is about.
Geekery is about loving a thing. It’s about the gooey delightful feelings of effervescence when a show comes off hiatus. It’s making inappropriately high-pitched noises at the sight of someone’s Buffy lunchbox or silently giving someone a Live Long and Prosper when you see their Star Trek shirt. It’s discussing existential nihilism and misanthropy over Twitter. It’s the people who will sit in line overnight to get into Hall H at San Diego Comic Con this week. It’s the feel of that comic book in your hands or turning to the letters from fans at the back and feeling tears well up in your eyes at the number of people who are as thrilled to see an all-female X-Men cast as you are.
Geeks are the ones who should be opening our arms to let new people come love things with us. High-fiving random strangers for dressing their little girls in Green Lantern shirts — or grinning and leaving 2π in the tip line of a $20 check because you saw the server wearing a quadratic joke on a wristband.
If you’ve been the Other, you should know how it feels.
Instead making people prove their ways in, why not open the door for them?