I’ve been a Twitter virgin. Oh, I’ve flirted with it, tossed my hair in its direction a couple of times but whenever we’ve got anywhere near some kind of relationship I’ve scampered back to the security of Facebook.
But now that I’ve promised to try a bit harder with this writing malarkey, I decided that me and Twitter really needed to get it on. So I rewrote my bio, twice, took a deep breath and headed over to the party with my lippy on and a bottle of wine under my arm.
You know what it’s like when you don’t know anyone and can’t work out what the vibe is. I slinked around the edges, smiling wildly at anyone who looked like they might want to say hello. I spotted a few celebrities and that made me shyer still. I didn’t recognise myself. I love social media. I’m up for a chat with anyone as long as it’s my fingers that are doing the talking. So why couldn’t I get this going?
The trouble is the party is just so huge! By the time I’d followed a few people who looked interesting, my feed was groaning with posts and my little smile was completely lost. And what is all this terminology – @ and # and lists and collections? I tell you, I nearly turned tail there and then and fled like Cinderella.
Then yesterday something great happened. I signed up for the Independent Author Fringe event at London Book Fair. I cleared the decks so I could spend all day trying to follow what was going on, with TweetDeck ( which I also don’t understand) open at the ready.
And that’s when the party began for me. I tried to join in although I was still feeling a bit lost but people spoke to me. Nice, like-minded people who seemed interested in what I had to say or at least polite enough not to ignore me.
I’m still not on the dance floor but I might have moved through to the kitchen so that’s a start. And anyway, isn’t that where all the best parties happen?
If you want to watch my Bambi-like attempts at finding my feet then go to @imogenclark or @lucindafoxbooks and say hello.