#RevertingToType

I had a complaint yesterday. @Garrysnaith61 wonders why I've
gone quiet on Twitter. He speculates that I may be working on a new
book and is #excited. Bless him! I'm always working on a book, in
varying stages of newness, so that in itself should make no
difference to my virtual networking, but he's right, I have gone
quiet on Twitter.

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I joined Twitter a year ago and, to everyone's surprise (I'm a
bit of a technophobe) took to it, and I quote Mr B now, like "a
demented sparrow on speed."

Twelve months on I still love Twitter. It's informative
(everything I know about current crime-writing affairs, I learn
from Twitter), Entertaining (as long as you follow discriminately),
Cheering (a little compliment on the Twitter waves can brighten up
a very dreary day) Enriching (I'm far too lazy to comb the daily
news sites and, thanks to Twitter mates, I don't have to.)
 Above all, it offers social interaction on tap.

And this is where I struggle. I'm not naturally sociable. I'm
the quiet one in the corner, listening, soaking it all up but
rarely speaking. You could call me a social parasite (you wouldn't
be the first) happy to benefit from society, but lazily reluctant
to contribute to it. And that's exactly what I've turned into on
Twitter - a flee. I still check in most hours, I still chuckle at
@StuartMacBride, smile affectionately at @inkstainclaire, widen my
eyes in shocked glee at @SarahPinborough (still can't believe she
called the pope at c**t) but I've regressed into my naturally
silent self. Sooner or later, it seems, we all revert to type. And
isn't that how it should be? Isn't wisdom about knowing and
accepting oneself?

Except … this morning, I had another complaint. My son told me
that I have to stop yelling at his football matches, because it's
embarrassing and none of the other mums do it.

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So there you have it, when sitting alone at my desk, I have to
shout loud and frequently, sharing every last opinion, considered
or not, with the world. At a football match, I have to keep my gob
shut. #confused!

If you want to follow me on Twitter, and I'm making no promises
about frequency:  @authorsjbolton.

And by the way, small one! There is a reason why none of the
other mums yell at football matches. They're not bloody-well there!
All the other parents are dads, but clearly it's perfectly alright
for them to yell, because they know all about the sweaty, muddy,
ridiculously dramatic, groin-scratching, male-bonding ritual that
is football. Those of us not blessed with a penis, on the other
hand, have to know our place and keep mum.
#stomps-off-in-a-huff!