I started writing here again for a couple of reasons. One, I was paying for the domain and I knew the site would look dusty and abandoned with no new content on it. Two, I had started posting some kind of ridiculously long content on Facebook, which is really not the venue for that. Three, I was writing extensively in Word files that would then end up saved on my laptop and forgotten.
Content is my business, so why would I put in that work waste it?
Writing is important when you’re a writer. It keeps your hand in, it allows you to grow in your craft. No writing, no growth.
The more I interacted with the website, the more signs of age were visible on it. The twitter widget with no posts. Content so ancient that it embarrassed me. Outdated information, like the podcast that no longer exists. Remnants of an era in which I apparently did not believe that blog posts needed pictures.
I did feel a terrible urge to delete all that old content, but I didn’t go through with it.
I stared at the now empty social media widgets.
The more I looked at the site, the more stale it felt.
Plus, the purpose of the site is a little different now than it was a few years ago. I’m not just writing fiction now, and I have an interest in copywriting/content marketing that I can explore and exhibit. The content I directed toward readers would be different than that I would direct toward potential clients and employers.
So I embarked on a website redesign.
I’m not going to tell you the redesign is complete (it isn’t), and I don’t know if it will ever be complete, or if I will continue tweaking it until I’m old and grey.
I struggled a lot with this. There’s a lot of conflicting advice. “Keep personal and professional content separate,” some people say. “You need a touch of your personality; people want to know who you are,” others say. “You are your brand,” still others say.
In the end, I decided this is going to be, whether I want it to or not, a mix of personal and professional content. As a writer, I am painfully aware of the fact that while I’m a very good writer, I am not now nor will I ever be the best in the world. I can’t just sell writing. In fiction, we say that we are selling our voice; that all the stories have already been written, but nobody’s written it the way you can.
I removed all outdated content (except old blog posts), and removed empty social widgets in favor of icons I found less tacky. I realized that if I’m going to link to my social accounts, I needed content there as well.
This is when things started to spiral outward.
When I stopped updating this website, I also stopped bothering with social media with the exception of my private Facebook account. It’s been years since I tweeted or instagrammed. I had already been chastised for the lack of new content on my LinkedIn by our career advisor in the MBA program. My Facebook account was the only thing I felt motivated to update, because it was the most rewarding; populated with people I already knew, full of local and international news, and it talked back to me. I got replies and delicious likes, and so many pieces have already been written about how addicting feedback can be.
Other social media accounts were never like that to me. Twitter was like tossing messages in bottles into a vast sea. LinkedIn just wasn’t, you know, fun. It was scary, like being at an office party and worrying that you’ll say the wrong thing to the wrong people. Instagram, well, most of what one sees of Instagram involves models and “influencers” and restaurant plates. And though I take photos, I had no interest in that sort of thing, and I would never fool myself into thinking that the photos I take are good.
Social marketing advice in the writer space tells us to pick the platform that we work on best and stick with that, but I wasn’t even updating my “professional” Facebook page. Facebook limits visibility of professional pages so thoroughly that even my friends didn’t get to see posts to my page, and without feedback (and precious likes), my interest in it faded.
And so I started to ask myself, what can I commit to? Can I commit to a tweet a day? A photo a day? A LinkedIn post a week? What can I do? And I started to build myself a list of internet chores.
Most of these are words, and it’s good for me to write words. It’s practice. It’s growth. It’s my job. Instagram, well, it’s good for anyone who publishes on the web to have a repository of images to choose from, and ones you’ve taken yourself are even better, because you won’t see that same free stock photo on someone else’s thumbnail.
And it occurred to me how strange it is to set up a list of social chores. I’m not going to become Instagram famous. I’m not going to amass a huge Twitter following. But if someone googles me (and they will), these old accounts will come up. With old content. That may no longer reflect who I am and what I think and believe.
And I think to myself, is this a chore that other people do? Or do they stick with a social media platform that they’re most comfortable in? Am I the weird one? And, will it start to feel more natural to maintain these other platforms the more I do it? How thoroughly do I curate? Is poor content better than no content? Will I need a piece of social media management software to handle my own stuff?
The really strange thing about social media is that it turns everyone into a marketer, whether they like it or not, whether they know it or not. We all curate. We all do, We may not realize we’re doing it, but we do. We all are trying to decide with each post what parts of us we want to advertise and which are best kept private.
And in a way, I think that’s what I find kind of exhausting about it. Decision after decision after decision, not knowing what any of the stakes are.