TWITTERHOLICS ATWONYMOUS

‘Adtwentures in Twitterland’ I called it, the post about my befuddled entry into the wonder of Twitter. But that was over a year ago.

I know how it all works now. These days I promote two novels on there, when I remember that’s what I’m supposed to be doing, although since I’ve only ever once bought a book seen on Twitter (pause to listen to the chorus of clicking authors unfollowing me) I’m not convinced it sells many.

The good news first: I’ve got some wonderful twittermates, and I’ve now met four of my favourites in person. Unbelievably, this includes the top flamenco artist with whom I’d started doing a language exchange (we’ve even done a bilingual radio show together) – although we’ve rather moved over to Skype these days. I’m grateful to Twitter for putting some very special people in my life.

Possibly also good news: I’m more aware of current events, and by following the right people I can be fed all the latest about dance, music, flamenco, Spain, Lindt chocolate flavours… Great. But do I have time for all this, as well as all the banter with my twiends?

I did, when my tweeting was confined to the computer. But then I got a mobile with internet, and now… Well, a study has showed that Twitter is harder to resist than cigarettes or alcohol, and I can believe it.

Are you going to join me at Twitterholics Atwonymous? Take my test and see how you rate. Twitterholism (IMHO) can be measured by three main features. I’ve added my own shameful examples to set the ball rolling.

 

1. TWIVIALITY

How often do you tweet absolute drivel? It’s not a good sign; you’re starting to see your daily life in terms of tweetability.

Almost Daily            Score 2

Sometimes              Score 1
Never                      Score 0

@CherryRad examples:

·       Sandwich choices on plane: ham and cheese, bacon and cheese…#Queasyjet
·       Aaaaaa-TCHOO!!! :-((

2. TWIMEWASTING

How often do you waste a significant  / worrying amount of your day on Twitter? E.g. you later realise you could have finished a book chapter.

Almost Daily            Score 4

Sometimes              Score 2
Never                      Score 0

@CherryRad confession:

Too many days there’s an extra hour in bed in the morning while I catch up with Twitter and its newsfeeds. This morning in fact, instead of getting on with the monthly blog post. So I changed topic and decided to shame myself on here.

3. INATWENTIVENESS

How often are you on Twitter when loved ones are with you in the room or needing you elsewhere? And no, if they are also on Twitter at the time, that doesn’t make it any better.

Almost Daily            Score 4

Sometimes              Score 2
Never                      Score 0

@CherryRad confession:

I’ve left a teenager waiting to be picked up at a freezing station while I finished a gripping twonversation. Although I did send him a tweet with emojis to apologise :-/

 

ARE YOU A TWITTERHOLIC?

Score <3/10: No. You have admirable control / infrequent internet access

Score 4-5/10: Mild Twitterholic. Careful.
Score >6/10: Twitterholic. I’m at 6. Where are you? From TODAY, let’s beat this thing.

PS I just did a Google search and found a long list of signs of Twitterholism. Including: You still think adding "Tw" to words is clever. #ohtwuck

 

 

 

 

ADTWENTURES IN TWITTERLAND - Retwisited

Here’s the post about my befuddled entry into Twitter. In all its happy innocence. Read, and then I’ll give you an update…

 

‘Facebook yes, but I’m just not doing this Twitter thing,’ I emailed my publisher.

An emergency meeting. An impossibly young thing from Marketing, an illustrated hand-out. Sipping tea while watching myself christened @CherryRad and assigned a ‘profile’ that would surely make the Twitterworld think I was the sassy salsera on my book cover – was that a good idea?

Although a flutter of interest when a handsome famous ballet dancer suddenly popped up and ‘followed’ me – perhaps thinking Men Dancing was a technique book. Next came a grinning fellow author woman from Texas with whom I was a perfect match with regards to genre, piano playing and chocolate. I was allowed home once I’d been seen graciously reciprocating their followships.

The idea, I’d been told, was to attract Followers. Before my novel was even out. Utterly ludicrous. But I set to, feverishly clicking Follow next to every woman claiming to be an avid reader and/or Strictly Come Dancing fan. Tweets: 0, Following: 83, Followers: 7 (but including my publisher and the local pizza take-away). Occasionally pausing to reward myself with some non-productive following of top flamenco artists, marvelling at their real-time exchanges about a show or a plate of tapitas.

Impossibly Young emailed to say well done, but now Tweet. Meaning create clever <140 character sentences designed to sell the book, you-are-a-writer-after-all. I wasn’t sure about that, but nervously put out thoughts about the usual things I bang on about – writing, Spanish, music, dance and chocolate.

Something happened. A host of characters started to emerge – I felt like I’d fallen down a hole and entered an extraordinary new world. Yes, people do say what they’ve had for breakfast. Yes, I’m ‘followed’ by individuals with inexplicable motives (war veterans, hot rod racers and female porn stars), and a stream of people shouting about their novel or steadily working their way through a book of quotes. Can’t like everyone; worlds are like that. But I now enjoy the company of some wonderful human beings with whom I’ve got much more in common than many of the people I call friends. They’ve taken over my instruction; questions about Retweets and #hashtags prompted a flurry of helping hands. We share our passions and humour, good days and bad. I’m now Tweets: 589, Following: 347, Followers: 400. Books Sold: who cares.  Oh, and I’m swapping languages with my favourite flamenco artist in the vaulted Direct Messaging area. #Whowouldhavethought.

 

THOSE BALLET PRINCES...

Balletomane ladies, don’t tell me you’ve never fallen for one of those ballet princes. Come on, I’ve just seen a 14-page forum comparing their charms, and look at all the tweets about the in every way gorgeous Marcelo Gomes. (And my friends’ reactions on hearing that he ‘Follows’ me on Twitter – don’t worry girls, the sweetie probably just mistook my MEN DANCING novel for a technique book).  

Perhaps I’ll start the ball rolling by admitting to having checked into Acostaholics Anonymous. Well, the next best thing: I wrote a novel about a woman’s obsession with a ballet dancer – a guy who’s probably a mixture between Carlos Acosta, Rudolf Nureyev and my charismatic salsa teacher. It helped. I got over it. But then I’ve also been busy with research on flamenco artists for my second novel…

Anyway, here’s an excerpt from MEN DANCING, when my (sorry, ‘the’) character is very much at the beginning of her journey to recovery…  

He made his entrance to the usual burst of applause: all handsome Russian prince and swirling overcoat, looking mightily pleased with himself. And then he came towards us with that male ballet dancer walk that’s always both courtly elegance and potent, crotch-displaying swagger. He took his seat: legs politely arranged – unlike in the train – but at an angle that drew my eye up from the gracefully arched feet to the shapely calves, to those sculpted thighs, to the irresistibly slim, belted waist and then, uncontrollably, back down to the mystery of that bulge, where on occasion – and this was one of them – one could pick out a provocative bit of outline behind the padding.

There was a nudge from Emma, pulling a box of Maltesers from her bag; cruel, but then it was my fault for not telling her about what had happened. 

The prince’s mother arrived and was doing ring-on-finger mime about how he had to choose a bride. But he wasn’t ready to marry, and nor was the spoilt ballet prince inside of course – but at least his mother had managed to instil a sense of family. He didn’t want to miss playing baseball with his kids while flying around the world performing, he’d said in an interview, so he’d wait until he retired and then go back to Cuba and have them. Around the time I’d be contemplating the menopause.

Then the prince beamed as he prepared for his solo, defying the mothers’ plans, living for the moment, the party guests dispersing to give him centre stage. There was the pure joy of his elegant side steps to the sweeping music of the waltz, the effortless jumps and turns, the ecstatic extension of his legs in flight… then a moment where his powerful but seemingly weightless limbs lifted into a statue – perfection right to the twist of his wrist and sensitive hands. A ravishing fusion of athleticism and art, of virility and gentleness.   

http://www.cherryradford.co.uk/

http://www.amazon.co.uk/Men-Dancing-Cherry-Radford/dp/1780032021/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1326725854&sr=1-1

http://www.amazon.com/Men-Dancing-Cherry-Radford/dp/1780033079/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1326725913&sr=1-1

ADTWENTURES IN TWITTERLAND

‘Twitter? I’ve got a rifle aimed…’ I emailed to my publisher. ‘It keeps saying Cannot send a message, how crap is that? Sorry, Facebook yes, but I’m just not doing this.’

An emergency meeting. An impossibly young thing from Marketing, an illustrated hand-out. Sipping tea while watching myself christened @CherryRad and assigned a ‘profile’ that would surely make the Twitterworld think I was the sassy salsera on my book cover – was that a good idea? Thanks, thanks but no thanks.

Although a flutter of interest when a handsome ballet dancer suddenly popped up and ‘followed’ me – perhaps thinking Men Dancing was a technique book. Next came a grinning fellow author woman from Texas with whom I was a perfect match with regards to genre, piano playing and chocolate. I was allowed home once I’d been seen graciously reciprocating their fan-ship.

The idea, I’d been told, was to attract Followers. Before my novel was even out. Utterly ludicrous. But I set to, feverishly clicking Follow next to every woman claiming to be an avid reader and/or Strictly Come Dancing fan. Tweets: 0, Following: 83, Followers: 7 (but including my publisher and the local pizza take-away). Occasionally pausing to reward myself with some non-productive following of top flamenco artists, marvelling at their real-time exchanges about a show or a plate of tapitas.

But I’d forgotten something. An email from Impossibly Young said well done, but now Tweet. Meaning create clever <140 character sentences designed to sell the book, you-are-a-writer-after-all. I deliberated. Pithy one-liners not a strength. Selling not a strength. I nervously put out thoughts about the usual things I bang on about – writing, Spanish, dance and chocolate.

Something happened. A host of characters started to emerge – I felt like I’d fallen down a hole and entered an extraordinary new world. Yes, people do say what they’ve had for breakfast. Yes, I’m ‘followed’ by individuals with inexplicable motives (war veterans, hot rod racers and female porn stars), and a stream of people shouting about their novel or steadily working their way through a book of quotes. Can’t like everyone; worlds are like that. But I now enjoy the company of some wonderful human beings with whom I’ve got much more in common than many of the people I call friends. They’ve taken over my instruction; questions about Retweets and #hashtags prompted a flurry of helping hands. We share our passions and humour, good days and bad. I’m now Tweets: 589, Following: 347, Followers: 400. Books Sold: who cares.  Oh, and I’m swapping languages with my favourite flamenco artist in the vaulted Direct Messaging area. #Whowouldhavethought.