A few years back, I wanted to start writing in earnest. My only outlet was a strange social website involving faces and books, so I thought to start there. I definitely could not start a blog. Those things were going out of style; were old news. No one would read what I wrote on a blog.
That’s not to say that Facebook didn’t have problems, too. I know! I thought. I’ll make it what I want to read. Others will follow suit and I’ll have a veritable salon of thinkers, writers, and readers. I’ll post whimsical brilliance that will be loved and shared the world over.
I knew my writing was better than what my “friends” posted. And, re-posted. And, re-posted.
I began writing daily. I tried funny, well-written, poetry, observations. I imagined my audience to be thrilled with this departure from the mundane. Surely, everyone would flock to me and what I offered, instead of to the flashing, dancing cat gifs.
Sadly, ’twas not so.
After about two years, I had to admit defeat. Besides a general dropping-off of readership, I had personally developed impulse-driven tendencies and depressive conclusions about my popularity.
What really got me? Facebook notified me that my friends, even the ones who really were friends, were commenting and re-posting GARBAGE -while leaving my posts silent.
As most artists can attest, my writings were so much a piece of my soul at times that I felt personally disliked.
At the suggestion of a real-life friend; in real life; with real, spoken words -I moved my writing over here to blogworld.
Hi.
Facebook, meanwhile, can continue its downward spiral to an advertising cesspool. I tried, but all its users want it to be what it is. Nothing more; continually, much less.
As for us, keep reading. Keep writing. Keep expressing.
Hear, hear! I just never could get behind the notion that people would sit and look at endless images of the food their friends were eating.
– Deandra
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So true! There are so many things on there that I feel like I’m pawing through the clearance bin at a discount Goodwill. I dust my hands off and think, “Why did I just (1) drive to this place, and (2) bother digging through there?”
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