Big Empty

Since I’ve been curtailing my social media interractions I’ve realized a few things. One of them is that social media is a drug that gives us a fix of feel good chemicals whenever we use it. The other thing is that it is based on quantity of interraction and not quality.

I have maybe three people I talk to regularly where we have actual deep conversations. You would think out of the nearly 400 “friends” I have on social media, that number would be much higher, just simply based on the law of averages. Nope. I’ve got three. Four if you add up the people I speak with every couple of months.

I think social media has rewired us and not in good ways. I have been on my soap box a number of times about this. But you know what, I miss just being able to hang out with someone and talk about anything. There are also times when I need my solitude and I know that talking with someone is going to be a distraction (welcome, yes. What I should be doing? No.) and social media makes it easy enough to just disconnect and look in, rather than interract.

But as you scroll. And scroll. And scroll…you are still interracting. You are still devoting time to the process. You just aren’t having an interraction with someone on an intellectual or emotional level. We all become wallflowers at a highschool dance, watching the popular kids grind it out on the dance floor. And that makes us feel lonely.

Yesterday was a big writing day. I might have broken my record. I don’t know. I didn’t go through and tally up the words, but I am sure I broke 10k. I think my all-time record is the day I wrote a short story in one day that was 14,000 words long. I paired it down to 6k and finally sold it three years later. I’m not a fan of that. You wind up pandering to an editor, rather than letting the story breathe and become what it wants to be.

Yesterday, I wrote a section that was dialog heavy. It wound up being 3500 words. Most of it just two characters talking back and forth. Sometimes I wonder what I’m doing. I mean, if it’s hard enough to talk to just three people in my life, then who is going to read this book when it’s done? Those moments will stop you dead in your tracks.

This morning I shared a YouTube video with one of my friends about David Fincher movies and how even every angle and beat of his films has some kind of meaning that drives the story. Movies have come a long way from the early days of just blocking a set to make sure everyone gets in the shot when the director calls “Action.” So, maybe with my 3500 words of dialog, it means something. It drives the story or tells something about the characters or irony or whatever.

Here is the the video.

The takeaway from the video is Fincher states simply enough that he has based an entire career on people being perverts. Maybe they want to read this book because it’s a deeper, intimate look at someone’s life. Maybe they’ll see something of themselves in the story. Maybe they will hate it. Maybe they’ll throw the book across the room, or it will never make it past an editor’s desk. That’s not why I’m writing it. I’m writing it because it is a story demanding to be told.

Maybe just enough people are perverts that they will read it.

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