Pigeons to Pixels

Hitting forty was like the time I got attacked by a pigeon...for a Wotsit. No really, it happened. The cheeky sod nose-dived out of the sky right into my face. I dropped the packet. And I swear, it whistled like a hitchhiker to the rest of the clan. The whole family feasted on my lunch. It left me reeling. And slightly scared of things with wings.

My introvert-self went into super silent mode. Not that anyone at work or… um anyone, anywhere noticed. It’s not like I’m the life and soul at the best of times. The cats noticed. I like to think. I wasn't sad. I wasn't anything. Just a little bit surprised. Shocked maybe.

So, predictably, for anyone that knows me, I tumbled headlong into mission, 'Change my life'. Mark Three. It happened at 22 when I decided that a stint in South Korea as an ESL teacher would define me (it didn't) my year-long adventure rolled into 5 and I was none the wiser. Just older…And addicted to chili pepper apparently. And the second time at 33 when Brexit pissed me off so I hot footed it to Slovakia.

Life decision made. I want to get the hell out of education and write for a living. I don’t much care what to be honest. Non-fiction for work? Fiction for the soul? I don’t know. But I need this silent desperation to end and the only way it’s going to is if I make it stop.

Summer holiday. Time. Finally. Time.

My teacher vacay of choice? Start collating and build a portfolio. Website with blog first. Because that seemed like a good idea. Zero followers, a few accidental likes from a stray web wanderer who felt sorry for me. After a week or so, I discovered Vocal as I was reading another blog telling me that blogs were a waste of time. Vocal media. That’s where it’s at. She said.

So that’s where I ended up at. Set up account. A couple of weeks passed, a few hearts here and there. The odd comment. A couple of light conversations. And then miraculously, a suggestion that I join ‘Vocal Social’ (Thanks Mike). This posed a bit of a problem…

I have a Facebook account – Albeit barely used, but it exists nonetheless. Not my real name, I might add. Partly because I don’t want an influx of underage students ‘friending’ me online and partly because I prefer the nickname my friend gave me to the one I was born with. So, I mulled it over. And decided to jump in.

"Holy shit" I thought on my first day there. "These people are my people. All they talk about is reading and writing. I’d died and gone to book nerd heaven."

I completed my first challenge with glee. A picture prompt from Mike of a little elfin character prancing through a door frame -you may have seen it floating around on here. My submission was crap (Proof of said crappiness is below).

But I didn’t care. It was fun and I was happy.

Until the next day.

“Aw, I saw that little picture of that little man on your Facebook. So cute.” My assistant said nonchalantly.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. I carried on pretending that the document on my computer screen was insanely important. MI5, FBI, CID Important.

As calmly as I could, “W-hat little man?”

“Oh I don’t know, I just saw it yesterday on Facebook.”

Shit.

“Huh!” I said, "I don’t know... Coffee?" Springing up from my chair a little too quickly. Seriously? Most of the time I’m invisible. People literally talk over the top of my head in Slovak. No one knows I exist. Why? Why? Why? The one time I do anything on social bloody media..

Four hours before home time. Four long, excruciating hours.

I removed myself from THAT Vocal Social immediately.

Then, I got me a shiny new Meta account. This time I used my actual, real name. Ironically the one I never use so zero chance of family or friends stumbling on my shit. Sweet.

I suppose as an aside I should explain why it is that I don’t want the people in my life to know that I write (kind of). It’s simple really. I’m embarrassed by it and I really don’t like flamboyance or show and tell. I don’t want them to read stuff out of obligation either. Plus, I want to be free to write what I feel and not have to worry about someone I care about thinking it’s somehow about them. It just seems safer that way.

Day one. My media world takeover began in earnest… Within seconds of set up, This:

Flattering. News of my 'Brilliant' mind travels fast in these parts. Or could it be some self-publishing pariah playing on my ego? Definitely the latter. She could help get my book out there. I don’t have a book. But I played along. For a bit. Just to see. She friended me. Didn’t see why not, so I graciously accepted. Can never have to many 'friend' on social media. Or so I'm told. How very kind, I thought. So, I friended another random person or bot, who's to know ? They graciously said yes too. And so the daily routine began. Friend a few more faces, usually based on the coolness of their cover photo. And believe me, there are some very cool cover photos.

OK. Pretend friends. Tick.

Now I have a Facebook full of faces I don’t know. Out of 291 'friends’. I vaguely know one. So for the first time in my entire life. I am popular. Woop woop! Go me!

So popular in fact. I almost got a job offer…

Or not. You know, it worries me though. I’m old. I’ve seen enough bullshit in life, and my bollocks detector is on steroids, but I can’t imagine navigating through all this as a teen. It seems to me that Fakebook is entirely that. A fallacy of facades. Layer upon layer of lies. Shysters trying to make a fast buck—everyone grappling with each other for the most thumbs up. It’s distasteful at best, damn right grotesque at worst.

Of course, as you can imagine I wasn’t about to give up on the new-found glorious community that started up the need for a new FB account in the first place, so I re-joined 'Vocal Social' using that.

Except, and here is the real kicker. My desire to be more involved has left me even more on the outskirts than I was before. I have those little black clappy hands next to my name because my account is new. Which means I have to wait for a moderator to check my comments/posts. This can take minutes or hours. By the time my input has been accepted, everyone’s moved on and I’m late to the party. Think I felt better when I didn’t know about this life outside of my walls. Apparently, this limbo lasts for a month. Not so social media if you ask me. So for now, I am sufficing with reading the stories I am directed towards, commenting on Vocal Media, and leaving hearts on Vocal Social. Maybe in this silenced mode, there are positives to be found. I am alive with the amount of talent I have read and my heart is full with the genuine support this lovely group gives each other. It balances out the negatives of this social media chizz—like with much in life, you can either use it for good or ill.

Next up. Instagram (Spam). 61 followers. None of whom I know or will ever know. 15 posts. 3 incoming messages about wanting to give me free sunglasses. Nothing about my profile even vaguely suggests I see the light of day, let along slap on expensive eye wear on a regular basis. Oh and of course the entirely dodgy message asking if I would like my poetry posted on their magically magnificent account. The page that has over 50K followers apparently. Most of them AI bots. no doubt. I could pay them for the pleasure. Nah, I’m good thanks. Not going too great on the whole.

And finally, LinkedIn. Daily job application. Refreshing my Gmail account between all the other new accounts. Just in case. Someone, somewhere in the webospehere thinks just maybe I have a shot. But no the daily nothing. Not even, “You’re shite. Stick with the day job.” That would be better, I think. Mostly.

I really don’t want to be like one of those kids that prances onto the stage on whatever Idol with an ego built on mother’s love but not much else going for it. I think I’d rather know.

So here I am, probably going about all of this in completely the wrong way. But I’ve given myself a year to figure it out. After that. Well, I don’t want to think about it. I’m not ready to think about THAT quite yet.

Any hints, tips, suggetions for 'project change my life', gratefully received!