Things I Hate About the Internet
I love the internet. I loved it the first day we got it in our house, in 1992, when my dad hooked up the signal and I listened to that weird, screeching ‘dial-up connecting’ sound through our phone line.
I loved the internet the first time I signed into a chat room run by Yahoo and got into a fight with someone twice my age.
I loved the internet when I realized that I wanted to learn where Jell-O came from and was able to find the entire story in just a few minutes. (Very interesting, by the way. Google it)
I loved the internet when I learned how to write my first virus in notepad (endless folders) and that I could download the answer book to my advanced chemistry class in college.
The internet and I grew up together. We learned things about the world and things about ourselves together. The internet was my first love.
And like a relationship with a high school sweetheart, now is the time to tell the internet about a few things it does to annoy me.
Passwords, Passwords, Passwords
Security password? Why the hell do I need a security password. I already have a password. The password is designed so my forgetful ass can remember it. Now, to get into any one of my bank accounts, I’m required to remember details like my mothers maiden name, the color of my first car and the name of my first grade teacher. I mean Jesus, how much verification do we really need?
Look, Bank of America, it’s my friggen checking account, not the US mint. If some clever internet hacker wants to waste their time breaking in, so they can steal the $1.45 available balance, then more power to them. Requiring me to submit 10 different security answers to access that amount is about as idiotic as someone who rents a safety deposit box for their Beanie Baby collection.
Inspirational Internet Memes
The following scenario has never happened in the history of time.
Arnold gets home from a rough day at the office. He is a cubicle worker who has worked the past 20 years for a company he hates. Today, his boss made a huge mistake, but blamed Arnold. As a result, Arnold lost his job. He started working right after high school, and does not have the transferable skills to get him a another job in the same pay bracket. His wife recently left him for his brother, so he has no one to lean on. Arnold has very few friends, a bleeding ulcer and a serious case of depression.
Arnold decides tonight is the night he ends it all. Before he does, he notices a new notification in his email. It’s from Facebook. This surprises him, as he only has 12 Facebook friends and 10 of them are Nigerian scam artists. Hmm, one of his real friends posted something on his page.
Suddenly, Arnold sees the light. All the burdens are lifted off his shoulders thanks to a form letter, sappy, inspirational paragraph written by a person he has never met. Arnold decides not to commit suicide.
His life has been saved thanks to chain mail.
Look, whenever someone posts one of these on my page, I immediately respond with a ‘defriend’. People who find themselves emotionally swayed by stupid internet memes are the reason drain cleaner comes with the warning ‘do not drink’. If you’re so damn impressionable that you can be convinced by clichéd platitudes, super-imposed over a beach you’ll probably never visit, it’s only a matter of time before you join a cult. Why don’t you get a jump on that instead and get off my page.
Just to prove my point, if I every decide to kill myself, I will slit my wrists with a shank make out of a bunch of rolled up inspirational memes.
Spammers who don’t even try
I hate spam as much as the next girl, but what I hate even more is spam from someone who doesn’t even make an effort.
A while back, I started receiving spam that actually insulted my page and called me a whiny idiot. I nearly mistook it for real hate mail and responded. Then, I got the same massage on a bunch of other websites that I manage and I realized I was dealing with one hell of a clever spammer. Whoever sent the email knew that I would immediately think the worst, which was I was getting more hate mail. I nearly took up the gauntlet and started a fight. A fight that would have simply wound up flooding my page with spam. While I hate that guy for being a spammer, I had to be a little impressed.
However, 700 random letters with 15 back links? It’s like they’re not even trying anymore. Look spammers, take a page out of discountloubitonshoes@gmail.com’s book . Be a little clever. Try a little harder. I’ll still block your ass, but at least I’ll do it with a smidgen of respect.
The ‘Interactors’
About 40% of the blogs you see in the world are a result of one thing. A fledgling author trying to peddle their books. There is nothing wrong with that. After all, if you want people to pay to read what you write, it doesn’t hurt to offer a free sample. In fact, this page started out as one of those. It was supposed to be a marketing site for my books. Then, I got bored, drunk, forgot to take my meds, and my page turned into the ramblings of a madwoman. But I couldn’t stop writing, I had to keep going. Why? Because I’m a writer and once I got started, I realized I couldn’t stop.
I write because I can’t not write. When I’m writing a blog post, around 4 sentences in, it just starts writing itself. The same goes for the stories I write. I was born to write. I was not born to interact.
The self publishing craze has created a new breed of writer. They’re not real writers. They’re “I’m going to write some shitty twilight rip-offs and get super rich’ writers. Then, to get publicity to their shitty book, they write a bunch of blogs about writing, and invite people to interact on their pages. If they’re really obnoxious, they’ll try to interact on your page, by leaving a comment with twelve links to their page in it. Or, they’ll all end their post with a question and an invitation to discuss it in the comments, to increase interaction.
Here’s the thing. I don’t suck at marketing in spite of the fact that I’m a writer, I suck at marketing because I am a writer. I’m good at writing things, but I blow at dealing with people. The majority of the time I’m commenting, I’m not interacting. I’m arguing with someone and calling them a douchebag.
My ‘interaction’ has alienated more fans than it has gained. I regret nothing.
And that, my friends, is genuine interaction. Don’t get me wrong. I’ve made some great friends online, but we don’t ‘interact’. We talk. I care about what they have to say and they care about what I have to say. At no time does marketing enter the equation. In fact, I’m pretty sure most of my frequent commenters have never even cracked the spine on one of my novels…and I have no problem with that. Because they’re not my audience, they’re my friends.
So I don’t ask them generic questions and ignore their replies when they respond. Instead, I state my opinion and let them share theirs. At this point, I’m not ‘interacting’. I’m having a conversation with a friend. For me, it’s no longer about marketing. It’s about the fact that there is one more person out there who will be sad when I die.
Interacters are the opposite. They don’t care about the people they talk to. Instead, they’re hoping for more site hits and potential readers for their shitty Twilight rip-offs. I learned in the first few days of blogging that it is not about gaining an audience. It’s about writing. Regardless of what platform you choose to do it on, if you’re a writer, you won’t be able to stop. You don’t care about comments or audiences. When people respond, you respond to them. You try to be nice.
Unless those other people are douche bags. Then, it’s about hunting them down using their IP address and to harass them endlessly.
So I live the majority of my life on the internet. Well, I’ll tell you, I love the internet. It makes me a living, it’s gained me fans and it’s given me an outlet. Otherwise, I would have just been organizing bum fights or beating hookers to death. For every douche that tells me I have no life because I blog, I ask “Have you ever put your hand inside a volcano? Have you ever outrun a bull at Pamplona? Have you ever dropped peyote at Burning Man?” No? Well then, you can’t blog. You can’t blog because you haven’t lived.
Every writer knows that rule number one to writing is having a story to tell. And how the hell can you have a story to tell unless you’ve lived one first?
I will never be good at marketing. I will never be good with people. But I will always be good on the internet, because I know how people work and I understand technology. And in a world like ours, that makes me a queen.
We are living in a digital world people. I’m not on the internet because I don’t have a life. I’m on the internet because that is where life is right now. And the internet moves pretty friggen fast.
If you don’t stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it.
