It was Friday night. I felt restless and alive, a formerly huddled mass yearning to be free. Having long pondered the folly of interacting with others out of a flimsy and incomplete construction of myself defined by “stuff I like” and “stuff I own” and “stuff I think once sentence at a time,” I thought I’d delete my Facebook account. So I followed the instructions, and got the following message:
Your account has been deactivated from the site and will be permanently deleted within 14 days. If you log into your account within the next 14 days, your account will be reactivated and you will have the option to cancel your request.
What is this, the Hotel California? In the age of caller ID, data recovery, aggregation, the archived cloud…it’s awfully difficult to do anything rash. Or, I should say, too easy and too consequential, and at the same time too difficult to do something rash and get away with it, like delete your entire inbox, disappear your Facebook account without leaving a trace, dial the number of someone you shouldn’t call, come to your senses, then hang up… I pity children today who don’t know the thrill of making a good crank call.
Anyway, you know what the Facebook thing reminds me of? Back in my online poker-playing days I learned that if in a moment of clear-eyed determination you wanted to cash out your account while you were ahead, the automated cashier would tell you yes, you can cash out, but the transaction takes 7 days so if you want to come back during that time and gamble your money away it will be right here waiting for you.
After a phone conference with the fabulous yet sensible Coe Booth, I was convinced to let my Facebook account live. But, I am cashing out, at least on particular ways of using the Internet: As a platform for being right or proving other people wrong, as something to which I feel daily obligated, for having conversations that are best had over lunch, coffee, or an adult beverage. Reacting out of context. Saying anything that can too easily be misread. (This past week I discovered you really shouldn’t try to debate all of the implications of the Haiti disaster or why Rush Limbaugh is wrong about everything in 140-character bursts.) Cashing out on listening to the little voice inside me that asks, “If I’m not being right, demonstrably smart, witty, savvy, and getting good reviews as a person, writer, blogger, social networker…do I matter?” I was talking to one friend about this and she brought up the idea of the performative self, which led me to ask, “You mean there’s a NONperformative self?” Huh. Who knew.
Oh, so you’ve heard me talk this talk before? I waffle, I know. Of Web 2.0 sometimes I think, “MY GOD IT’S BRINGING ABOUT THE APOCALYPSE!” Other times I see it’s pretty useful, and brings about some good things. But, generally I’m feeling more urgent about this as an issue for society and humanity and our ability to listen, think critically, love, create, and live lives in which “interaction” does not always mean with a screen. How to balance that with a career that benefits from connectivity during the long stretches of time between books, in an industry that has many interesting and important ongoing conversations facilitated by aforementioned apocalyptic technology—that’s the question, that’s the figuring out that needs to be done. I’ll tell you, it’s temping to go off the grid completely. In the last year I have come so close to pulling the plug on everything but the house phone. That’s a reaction, of course. I’ve been thinking through what I’m reacting against and trying to problem solve instead of running away.
The big old experiment in the laboratory of my brain continues.
In other news, I am so thrilled that Rebecca Stead’s When You Reach Me won the Newbery Medal. I loved that book. Though it’s brand new, it somehow managed to feel like a piece of my childhood, and I can’t think of any other book not actually from my childhood that has done that. Congratulations, Rebecca! And congrats to all of the ALA winners and honor books. The only other books I’ve read that won something are Marcelo in the Real World by Francisco Stork and Flash Burnout by LK Madigan. Loved and blurbed ‘em both.
18 comments for this post
When You Reach Me does feel like a piece of childhood! I know if it had been around when I was a kid, I would have read it over and over and over. I was happy to see such a deserving book win.
(That comment was not intended to sound like I was making judgments on other winners or on this year’s Honor books. Just that it was a special book and I was so happy to see it being recognized as such. Tone is so hard to read on the internet.)
Sara Reply:
January 19th, 2010 at 2:10 pm
@Kari, No, I totally know what you mean.
You were an online poker player? Dude, we are so going to Vegas! (Not in the Altebrando sense). (Hopefully you know what I mean by that. If not, feel free to disregard).
Wait, that’s not what I was supposed to take away from the post? I missed the point entirely? Oh….
Sara Reply:
January 19th, 2010 at 2:10 pm
@Emily Wing Smith, hahaha, yes, I know :)
Something is in the air. I seem to notice a lot of people–okay YA authors–sick of the whole disjointed, navel-gazing, whatever crap feeling you get from too much web 2.0. It’s good and connective in some ways. And supposedly professionaly important. And yet…the hangover is not good.
Good luck with escaping the flypaper.
Sara Reply:
January 19th, 2010 at 2:11 pm
@Gayle, Sometimes I want to say to the Internet, “It’s not you, it’s me.” But also, “It’s totally you.”
LOVE the Facebook/Poker analogy!
It’s as if you climbed into my mind and spoke my thoughts. I’ve been grappling with the same issues and while I haven’t taken any drastic measures yet, I’ve decreased my on-line time significantly. Will it kill book sales or make it so I won’t get published again? Not sure. But I’ll tell you this. What has happened in Haiti reiterates everything I’ve been feeling about the importance of not just living life, but making a difference and sharing it with others. I don’t think I can do this with my face stuck to my monitor all day. Quite frankly, I don’t think I’ll miss it, nor look back. Godspeed, Sara.
Sara Reply:
January 19th, 2010 at 2:12 pm
@Leeann Whiffen, I feel like there has to be a sweet spot somewhere, where it’s useful, and you can really be its master, but it’s so hard to find that. My current experiment is seeing if I can manage my life while only being online twice a week…
Leeann Whiffen Reply:
January 19th, 2010 at 2:50 pm
@Sara, Twice a week – I like that! Of course we’d never junk our cars and purchase a horse and buggy. The internet is intertwined with our lives and that’s here to stay. But ensuring my life is filled with in-person human interaction and balance is key for me. Thanks for your thoughts…
Sara, I read your post with much interest. Up until a few months ago I had no blog, no twitter and no facebook. I used the internet to do research, communicated w/friends and fellow writers via email or in person. Now I have a book on submission via my agent and I’m branching out. I have come into contact with lots of great people via the internet but am very happy that I stayed away until my writing reached a certain level. I think all that uninterrupted writing time was key in my development. Now, I am looking for ways to have more of those time blocks. (I remember in december you unplugged for a month.)
ps. I have read and enjoyed all three of your novels and look forward to the next one!!
Sara Reply:
January 20th, 2010 at 9:05 am
@Paul Greci, In the many years before I was published, published friends would tell me: “Enjoy this time – it will never be the same after you’re published.” I always thought, haha, easy for you to say, you have what I want. But they were so right! Being published is wonderful – I wouldn’t trade it – but it changes your job. Now your job isn’t just writing but “being a writer”…connecting with readers, help making sure people know about your book, doing the promotion publishers ask of you yet still finding time and mental space to write the next thing…it’s a challenge. A good one, though!
I’m glad that you elaborated on your Facebook hating here. I was concerned.
I didn’t know the waiting period for stopping your Facebook account, but it seems like a good idea really. Not only does it stop a quick decision, it gives a failsafe if someone else tries to delete your account. Now the gambling site holding onto the money – that’s another story.
I do understand the pressures of an Internet life, especially for a writer. On one hand, it has made a lonely road a little more like a workplace with co-workers and watercooler talk. On the other hand, it’s always that kind of watercooler talk that keeps us from doing our work at our workplace. Looking at it that way, make Facebook your coffee break or lunch or whatever you need, and then get back to the work of writing. (Says the person on the Internet, like all the time.)
Dear Sara,
You are right. I want so badly to disconnect. I would be much happier and I would love much more. I am always going to try it but at the same time, I feel isolated. A lot. Have to figure out how to balance my life.
The end.
Have you read “You are not a gadget”? It’s all about how the Web 2.0 stuff is tough on us as humans, but how to buck the system. (Well, at least so far…I’m only 2 chapters in.)
Sara Reply:
March 12th, 2010 at 2:07 pm
@sarah louise, Oh yes, I actually blogged about it a bunch of times while I was reading it – it really articulated so much of what I’ve felt.
ooh, I’ll have to look for your posts on YANAG. It’s more technical than what I’m used to, but I’m gleaning some good points.