From what I'm hearing, trying to finish a story is pretty much a Twitter-wide preoccupation.
         – Susan Orlean, one hour ago on Twitter.com

A few minutes ago, best-selling author Meg Cabot watched The Real Housewives of New Jersey. This morning, a skunk found its way into memoir writer Augusten Burroughs' yard and is stinking up his house. Frequent New Yorker contributor Susan Orlean just announced she wants to marry Don Draper, a fictional character on AMC’s Mad Men. Twitter, the Internet’s new social networking revolution, has taken over my favorite authors’ lives and I’m not sure whether I love it or hate it.

On one hand, I’m getting to read the innermost thoughts of some of the world’s best living writers, some of whom haven’t written a book in years. Reading the Twitterings of authors I love is almost like reading an advance copy of their newest novel, right? Sure, every once in a while, an author on Twitter will say something book worthy, or even prophetic. But most of the time, it’s just about what they had for lunch.

When I first started Twittering, I thought it was only a matter of time before readers started recognizing my witty posts and following me, which is pretty much the only thing you can do on Twitter’s simple interface. You write 140 characters or less on whatever you want, and other Twitter members can subscribe to, or “follow,” your updates. That’s it. I soon realized that no one was interested in my Twitterings because I don’t have much of a fan base. Maybe a few people from college, but that’s about it.

Meg Cabot, however, has a fan base of tens of thousands of Tweeting teenage girls who just watched The Princess Diaries and would be thrilled to know everything that’s happening in her life today. And okay, I’m a little interested, too. For instance, last week Cabot informed her subscribers that she writes not in her home office, but in bed. I write in bed! Meg Cabot and I should be best friends forever! But with the constant author-Twitters flooding my daily feed, I have to wonder how much book writing is really going on here.

I guess it makes more sense for authors to be Twittering than say, Samantha Ronson, who is only famous for being Lindsay Lohan’s ex-girlfriend, yet somehow has over 300,000 followers. But if I’ve learned everything there is to know about my favorite writers via ten one-sentence messages throughout the day, I wonder if I am more or less apt to read their newest book? I know that writers are allowed to have free time as much as Lindsay Lohan’s ex is, but I just can’t imagine T.S. Eliot or Ralph Waldo Emerson using Twitter. As much as I hate to admit it, authors who use Twitter make me question their authenticity as real, suffering-for-their-craft writers.

Maybe in this day and age, it is silly for me to think that all writers should be toiling away on typewriters in dusty, old attics. Maybe the times have changed and writers must now be techno-savvy marketers as well as brilliant wordsmiths. The reason I love reading books, however, is because the subjects in the books I read are not just like me. There’s nothing I love more than escaping into the life of a character that is so vastly different from me, I find myself sucked into a completely new way of thinking. But how am I going to read Susan Orlean’s newest New Yorker story when I’m thinking about the tuna on toast she had last Thursday?

Writers do not usually become worldwide celebrities and I think it’s better this way. Once actors become personalities, their work is no longer important. For instance, I would never go to a Brad Pitt movie to lose myself in his deep, well-developed character. His eyes, maybe, but certainly not his character. He’s still Brad Pitt, whether he’s donning old-man makeup or robbing a casino, and there’s really no other reason for me to see his movies other than to ogle his abs. The world has officially decided, “Who cares about plot when Brad Pitt’s in the movie?” But I like losing myself in a good book, and I never want that feeling to change because I know every insignificant detail of the author’s daily life.

I guess when it comes down to it, I’d rather not have my favorite authors be an open book. I don’t want to know whether or not Meg Cabot liked the newest episode of American Idol or what Susan Orlean’s dog is doing right now. I don’t feel like getting an e-mail update every time Augusten Burroughs smells a skunk. Twitter me when you finish your book and then we’ll talk.


Lindsay Champion’s short stories and personal narratives have been featured in Time Out New York, The New York Press, McSweeney’s, Fray Quarterly, SMITH Magazine and Common Ties. She has written hundreds of articles for numerous internet publications. She earned her BFA from NYU's Tisch School of the Arts, where she studied writing. She lives in Los Angeles with an albino goldfish named Betty White. Contact Lindsay at her web site, New York Words.