I know someone whom I loathe engaging in conversation because this person only talks about himself. He’s super creative and takes great pleasure in his skill, which he should, but that’s all that exists, all we talk about, all he wants to discuss at length. Truth is, I can’t recall even one time when he asked how I was doing, yet I know if I inquire how things are going for him, it will be an hour-long HIM-fest that will only end when I stop listening.
This bothers me because we ALL have something we love and could speak of ad nauseam. To commandeer an entire back and forth and make it 100% forth, is selfish, narcissistic and short-sighted. It says, “Only what I do is important. I’m making things! What are you doing? Eh forget it, I don’t care.”
This person and I have been friends for a long while, but we don’t see each other often, so I let it lie. However, there’s this other person…
Someone I don’t know other than online. For years, I’ve observed her tweet or Facebook her posts and disappear. No interaction, no engagement, no nothing. And she’s a brilliant writer; I could read her all day (and have), yet this broadcasting of her, her, her and zero “hey I’m glad you like what I wrote!” or “thanks for the comment!” or “I’m sorry I haven’t followed you back on Twitter even though you support me unconditionally!” has grown old. And so I’m bothered. And so I wrote the below as if I were her. Because bitching about stuff sometimes makes me feel better.
Look, I think it’s time we had a talk, wherein I do all the talking and you just sit there and nod occasionally when I’ve said something insightful, perceptive, and well structured. See, I’ve tried to convey to you again and again that you and I will not be friends, nor talk casually, nor even look at each other if we were to pass on the street. Because come on, I’m brilliant. I don’t need you clogging my fiery synapses with small talk and silly banter. I’m brainstorming every second and turning my malcontent into verbiage gold. I mean, I do talk to people, sure. But they are carefully selected to expand my influence and bestow genius by association. Can I just say what I’m thinking? I don’t have to ask. You’re an enabler. You allow me to rack up comments and stoke my ego, but beyond that you’re nothing to me.
Yes, yes, I know I post links to my work and give nothing in return, but Hemingway would do the same, as would any wildly amazing writer who has better things to do than talk to plebes. My links are gifts to you. They require no explanation and so I give none, however I trust you will visit my blog because you think you’ll absorb some of my talent glitter. And please leave your thoughts in the comment box, where thoughts are tell me how nimble-fingered and publishable I am. I really need you to follow those guidelines because I can’t go around actually responding to people. I only have bandwidth for one-sided admiration. Did you nod here? Please do. The gap between your blind acquiescences are widening and I won’t have it. If you insist upon continuing with not humbly subjecting to my epic skill, I’ll have to write another controversial post to re-establish my dominance. Let’s avoid that eminently-re-tweetable ploy. I just want to write my words and have you worship at the feet of my metaphoric proseacea.
See what I did there?
I made up a fucking awesome word.
But I beg you, don’t try that at home. Because then I’ll call you out for improper use of the English language. Real writers don’t abuse the craft.
Unless you’re a real writer.
It’s confusing. I don’t expect you to understand.
So instead, here’s a flow chart:
Do you know who I am?
Yes.
RT everything I say and write.
No.
Everyone knows who I am.
Now stop having an opinion and go back to your self-flagellation for not writing as well as I.
This is what makes me strong, minion.
All this is to say creativity is porous. It’s not a cement block. Go ahead and write, and be brilliant and all-day-readable, but if you’re promoting your posts online, envision the people on the other side every now and then.
Photo courtesy of Google Images.
P.S. This post is not about anyone I know personally, bloggily, or Twitterey.
Tell us, tell us, tell us who it is.
I hope you feel better after getting it all out :)
I was starting to write a comment but then I realized I hadn’t really read this b/c I was so engrossed by my own personal genius as both a writer, mother and Jew.
xoxo
Oh dear, you.
This kind of thing? Always makes me check myself.
Am I being kind enough? Generous enough? On line and in real life?
(I hope that yes.)
I finally unfollowed someone on Twitter for exactly that offense. I mean, I get it, on the one hand. And not at all in reality.
Here, here.
I’m with you here. I can think of a few situations since joining Twitter two years ago when I’ve stopped being a fan of a writer’s because of the haughtiness of the online persona. It goes to show that social media does not work if someone’s just blindly following the advice to have a social media presence. They need to have a POSITIVE presence!
“My links are gifts to you.” Oh my gosh!! You kill me. I am in love with this post. And Jessica’s comment is just perfect.
How come every time I read something like this, anywhere, on any post, I always think it’s about me?
What the heck.
I feel like I do everything wrong. Inadvertently, without meaning to…it just happens that everything I do cast me in the worst light.
Oh, I just figured it out: it’s because I’m a hick. Don’t know about the finesse of things.
Kadonk kadonk. That’s what I sound like when I walk in my hausfrau shoes when I’m in LaJolla visiting my in laws.
I’m going to stop kidding myself, I can never live in Calif…as much as I think I want to.
I just would fall flat on my face with all the social cues and social properisms I have no clue about.
Kadonk.
Maybe she doesn’t know or she doesn’t crowd the conversation on purpose? And it just becomes a habit because few people have stopped and talked to her about it?