Just two minutes, three at most. Okay, five. Ten. Definitely no more than 15. And if 15 become 20, what’s the harm? Isn’t it part of my job as a columnist to be on Twitter? Am I not supposed to keep my finger on the digital pulse of the zeitgeist?
Wait, can a zeitgeist have a pulse – it’s a ghost, after all – and if it does, can it be digital? Let me ask my followers what they think.
Twenty minutes later I’m no closer to answers, because I haven’t asked any questions. Instead I’ve watched a Vine of a pug puppy, and eavesdropped on a second-rate twar between third-rate celebrities.
I have learned nothing, accomplished less. But as if by magic I have evaporated 20 – no, 30 minutes. Where did the extra 10 go? Damn that pug.
I try to rationalise this casual destruction of time by telling myself that I was keeping my brand visible and staying abreast of current culture. But of course that’s rubbish.
Publishers tell writers that we need to be marketing ourselves relentlessly, but honestly, apart from the odd eloquent takedown of an idiot by JK Rowling, who really wants to read the un-edited word-burps of writers? And as for keeping abreast of current culture, the only culture on Twitter is the kind you grow on a petri dish.
No, the truth is that Twitter is just a productivity black hole, and that’s not an idle metaphor. The figures are astronomical. 300 million users write 500 million tweets a day. The average tweet is between 40 and 60 characters long, so assuming about 10 words a tweet, humanity is typing out the equivalent of “The Lord of the Rings” 11 000 times every single day.
Apparently we spend an average of 17 minutes a day on the platform. That doesn’t sound like a lot, but over the course of a year that’s four straight days. Stephen King writes 2 000 words a day, so in the four days you spent tweeting about your lunch, he’s written 8 000 words. Granted, 8 000 words is just the opening paragraph of the average King blockbuster, but you get the point.
Twitter doesn’t only obliterate time, though. It also destroys perspective. Every day it presents us with something which it claims deserves all of our attention (or outrage) right now.
Yes, yesterday’s thing was the worst ever, but – what? Nigerian schoolgirls have been kidnapped, so we all need to – what’s that? A movie star’s nudes have been – wait, the President won’t pay back the – OMG, a dentist shot a lion? And so on and so on, faster and faster, louder and louder, shallower and shallower.
Twitter has to latch onto endless new outrages because if it pauses to reflect on yesterday’s events, it dies. It can’t afford to have a memory, because it exists only in a world of an endless now. Those who enjoy Twitter talk of its immediacy and its energy. I’ve enjoyed those. But I also know that creative people need memory, quiet and space.
So will I practise what I’m preaching here and get off Twitter? I don’t know. Maybe I’ll ask my followers for advice. Just give me 10 minutes and I’ll let you know. Actually, make it 15 …
* Tom Eaton is a columnist, screenwriter and sometime novelist, living and working in Cape Town.
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