On Nov. 11, 2010, I hit 2,000 followers on Twitter.
This is an arbitrary number, of course; some of the people hooked onto my stream may actually be bots from somewhere out there in the interverse. Some deeper down the list, who've been following me for a while, may have grown tired of my Tweets; I'm on the damn thing a lot. But hey, I'm an unemployed freelance writer person, and Twitter has become the World's Best Marketing Tool.
I'm not even kidding.
Back when I lost my real life job, in May 2009, my friend Byron Beck told me that I had to get on Twitter. I'd resisted up until that point; I'd been late to join Facebook, I was blogging for the radio station I was working for, and I also had a LiveJournal. I felt there was enough Tara online. However, once I was off the air, I quickly discovered how essential social media really are to those who must network like mad to get themselves a paying gig.
And so I began the task of Tweeting. At first, I floundered. I followed every celebrity I could, because I thought that's what you're supposed to do. I soon realized that I didn't especially care about the inner ramblings of (mostly) empty-headed actors, and they never replied or followed me back anyway. I began following writers and comedians. I found old friends from college who kindly got the word out about li'l ol' me. Twitter rapidly went from a quirky new toy to a daily necessity.
I really didn't get the power of the Twitters until the Dave Chappelle incident here in Portland. From one tiny Tweet, a huge gathering occurred in Pioneer Courthouse Square. Once that happened, no one could deny that Twitter had gone from just another social media outlet to something much more than that.
I look at Twitter like it's one ginormous chat room and business meeting rolled into one. The internet is powered by pure narcissism, and Twitter is its crown jewel. Not only can people blatantly promote themselves, they can get lots of other people (most of whom they don't even know) to blatanly promote them, too! With a simple re-Tweet (for you Luddites, that's when someone likes something you wrote so much that they share it with their own followers), your 140-words-or-less have gone global within seconds. Every day, someone who doesn't know I exist might accidentally find out about me, like what they read, and join the circus that is my Twitter feed.
Neato, huh?
The most fun thing about Twitter is when a wicked famous person acknowledges that you do indeed exist (hi, John Cusack!) In fact, Twitter has become sort of an equalizer, where Joe Nobody (or, hey, Tara Dublin) rubs virtual elbows with the likes of Tom Hanks and Steve Martin. My Twitter life suddenly ramped up this past June, when I was planning a trip to New York for my mother's retirement party. "Hey NYC Tweeps" -- a lame combo of Twitter and peeps; my apologies -- "I'll be there in June, anyone wanna do a Tweetup?"
I expected replies from people I actually know offline (and yes, those people do exist!), but my very first response was from the one and only Rosanne Cash, who asked "What's a Tweetup?"
Rosanne had only recently started following me, and I was astonished that not only did she always reply to my Tweets to her, she often would engage me in conversation! Still, she is way more famous than I could ever aspire to be, so I replied with an offhand, "Oh, it's just when people who only know each other over the Twitters meet in person." I expected her to either not reply or, at the very least, say that's not something she'd ever want to do in this or any other lifetime. I mean, she's Rosanne Cash, she doesn't need to spend time with the Little Writer Girl from Portland.
To my utter shock, she replied: "I'd be up for that!"
Whenever I tell this story out loud -- which I love to do -- it's here when I pause and say, "Why? Why would Rosanne Cash want to meet me?" But bless her, she did. And not only that, she was game for inviting others to join us. She also suggested dining at her private club in Manhattan. I couldn't wrap my brain around any of it, but I was just so delighted that I kept my "Gee golly gosh" thing to myself.
Every step of the planning phase (which took place, of course, over Twitter, using the Direct Messages so that we didn't end up with 4,000 people crashing our lunch) blew my mind. Over the course of a couple of weeks, we recruited a total of seven women to Tweetup. Rosanne had the advantage of actually knowing the others who ended up around the table that sweltering day in June: Susan Orlean. Nancy Franklin. Lizz Winstead. Sandra Bernhard. Lisa Bonchek Adams.
And Rosanne Cash.
And... me.
While I felt I held my own in such intimidating company, I still had "One of these things is not like the other..." on an endless loop in my head. We all marveled over how it was Twitter that had brought us together in this same room, because people just don't get together in life as much as they used to. And yes, thanks to Twitter, I've been able to remain in touch with all of them. Both Rosanne and Lizz have been out to Portland since that day, and I've been able to see them both. Huzzah to the Twitters!
Twitter has become my first source for news, gossip and all-day laughs. My followers have seen me through the loss of a job, the writing of my first novel, the heartbreak of the rejections I've gotten on said novel, and, most recently, the joy of actually finding an agent who likes the book enough to ask for a second draft. Each Tweet is its own little writing exercise, being smart and funny within a set parameter. Some see it as the ultimate time-suck, but for me, it's been one of the greatest inventions since central air-conditioning and Caller ID.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I must get back to my feed.