A Eulogy for Twitter

I refuse to call it X.

My prompt: “A funeral for Twitter.” A+, no notes, just outstanding work. (Source: imagine.art)

Housekeeping: this Substack now has a paid option! What does that mean? Very little, for now. I’m still figuring it out. Nothing is paywalled…though I may have future Q & A posts that are. Or we can start a Discord! A supper club! A friendship bracelet mailing ring! (But seriously we won’t.)

At any rate: if the spirit moves you, go ahead and pay for these essays (real work goes into this thing, after all), but if not, please read and share enthusiastically anyway, because I just like writing.

Now. On to my Twitter eulogy.

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A thing that happens when you work at NPR: you’re at a party or at church or anywhere you meet new people. They ask about your work. 

Upon finding out you report for NPR, they ask: “Oh! What’s your name? Maybe I’ll recognize you!,” presumably hoping that you are Steve Inskeep or Nina Totenberg or Lakshmi Singh. 

You give your name. You are neither Steve Inskeep nor Nina Totenberg nor Lakshmi Singh. The questioner tips their head back. Intake of breath, mouth open. Pause. 

“Aaahhhh…” they say, and now they are apologetic. “Well, maybe I don’t listen as much as I should!”

And you assure them that all is well, because of course, it is.

Except…….well, okay, then this exchange happens a dozen times, then a few dozen. And you start to wonder, “Am I doing enough stories? Are my stories impactful enough? Should people know my name?”

If you, reader, think this sounds insufferable, all woe-is-me, I demand more praise, you are correct. And in that case, boy oh boy are you going to be more annoyed by what’s coming.