Novelist Colson Whitehead on Twitter as his workday companion:
You have to take care not to get sucked into the darkness. Since I give off an affable “Oh, he’ll pontificate about anything” type of vibe, I might, for example, get asked to offer my two cents on a panel about “From $tatus Update to Oprah Pick: Four Random People Discuss a Non-Phenomenon.” Perhaps you are reading this in the Javits Center at this very moment, waiting for such a panel to begin. I always demur. I can’t comment on how others use social media. I can only speak on my own use of Twitter, which is: I had a cat, the cat died, and now the stuff I used to say to the cat all day, I tweet.
That’s my Twitter origin tale: it’s nice to have a little company during the long workday. I’m probably more versed in why writers aren’t on Twitter, as they constantly share their reasons without prompting. Like, they’re reluctant to waste material they might use in their work. Seems reasonable. Every Chia pet non sequitur I tweet, every anecdote about my time on the international Segway racing circuit and quote from Cookie Puss’s memoir, the more my novel about a Chia-American Segway racer who moonlights as an affordable ice cream cake suffers.
Besides, there are plenty of cats on the internet.
