I feel almost guilty for doing this - the words below are from a blog post by an Irish writer, James Claffey, living in California, and whom I gratefully follow - because I'm linking to his most recent post, Connectivity, which echoes my sentiments on social media; even while I hypocritically share it within the realm of social media and the blogosphere:
"The sky moves, clouds of white cappuccino foam, tinged with a blushing edge from the sun’s setting. My head is pounding from the constant bickering of Facebook messages and unsolicited Tweets from strangers. My plan is to expel myself from social media altogether, to abscond from the interwebs like some old dog ambling down a narrow road to find a place to rest. Safe in my own skin, I think, less panic than I ever want to deal with, that’s my goal. Rather than check-in addictively on phone or laptop, I choose to light a fire, crack the spine of a dusty book from my neglected shelves and pour myself a glass of red wine. The messages tell me we have a new civilization, a new way of connecting, a salesman’s pitch of a world to inhabit. No. No thanks. I’d rather listen to my own creaking bones, my settling body, and flow gently to the sea."
He truly is an independent writer (you'll realise this from reading his blog posts), adamant to function-write on his own terms, even if it means that it will 'cost' him, possibly dearly, in the publising world.
I tip my cap to him.
(Photo: I took the picture at dusk a month ago from Muizenburg beach, looking towards Smon's Town. It was the middle of winter then, but that's no longer the case.)
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