Why do they hate us?

So, it’s like that, is it? You really want to read this book that badly, huh? All I did was casually post the meme that inspired it and my Threads blew up. At least compared to my normal bookish content.

I don’t expect any of my other book promo posts to do this well. The mysterious entity we refer to as the social media algorithm (but which is really a bunch of underpaid staffers supporting their billionaire employer’s fascist ideology) doesn’t want to see us win, and will crush your reach if it senses even the slightest chance that you’re going to reach people organically.

Good thing I had a review copy link ready to give people. Even so, I wish I had set up pre-orders, because not everyone wants the responsibility of a review copy. JK there is zero responsibility. I just want people to read the damn thing.

So if you like queer romance full of disaster gays making bad decisions and learning to get over them, adorable twinks who don’t understand how many people want to cherish them, and the trope I like to call Oblivious-to-Lovers where two best friends (who occasionally bang) realize that this is what love looks like for them: I got you, babe.

OMG yes I want to read this book.

My brain, the contrarian

an antique phrenology model of a human head. the top of the skull has been removed to show a model of the brain. Phrenology terms are written in German across the top of the model's forehead. The image is eerie and forlorn.

Nothing derails my plans more effectively than making them. For example: I set up my personal brand as author, blogger, and general nuisance and then essentially stopped blogging.

I have a lot going on, and this site was only ever meant to be an exercise in working out my thoughts coherently enough that other people would be able to read them, thereby clarifying these thoughts for me. I don’t know if that happened. As well as several dozen poems, I’ve posted a lot of rambling rants, a lot of mediocre ‘content’ as we’re meant to call everything that arises from the slightest creative human endeavor.

Is this post content? Is it shareable? Do I care?

Most of my parasocial needs are being met on Threads right now. It’s not a perfect platform thanks to Meta, who are either fascists or idiots or both given the way they disable trans and POC accounts via algorithm but won’t take down hate accounts despite hundreds of real users’ reports. They don’t fucking care, but I’m content to work chaos on the margins. I don’t have the energy to get on BlueSky or Mastodon or anything else. I’ll wait for a new exodus, when the process of enshittification has gone too far to tolerate.

Find me on Threads if you want to microdose more of my belligerent optimism: https://www.threads.net/@willforrestthewriter

And they wondered what the secret was

Gaining traction–getting attention–on the internet is an opaque process for the most part. If, like me, you aren’t doing a frequent deep dive into how your content is getting served to the public then you probably have very little idea why something you post does or does not get clicks. To try and game social media algorithms is to play against masters of obfuscating data trails. Certain enormous retailers are equally secretive about how they intervene in the relationship between buyer and seller. To the liars fall the spoils, we must say in this situation, because the retailers and media corporations both hold the majority of the power and make a substantial amount of the money.

The joke to me is that the harder I try and use the interlaced nature of the internet, the worse my reach is. This blog for example: if I embed a video, if I use the scheduler, if I use the auto-repost function, my content goes unseen. Not just zero likes but zero views. This is, in a word, bullshit. We built the internet to be interconnected. Isn’t that what it’s a short form of, interconnected network? It’s like we built highway interchanges then put brick walls across them. What’s the point of the internet if every node on it savagely protects itself from all other nodes?

I didn’t know what this post was about when I started writing. Only that I wanted to test my theory above. I needed a post, and now I think what it’s about is to say that:

The point of the internet is not to make the shareholders of social media corporations rich. It’s to connect across a network.

Seems obvious, doesn’t it? Much rarer in practice.

A week ago I joined a Discord server hosted by one of my favorite authors (It’s invite only so don’t even ask, IYKYK.) It is one of the finest instances of people being quality on the internet: the encouragement from other members, the positivity everyone exudes, the ethical durability of the group rules, all at a time when I was kind of starved for human interaction. It is however a very select group. Small numbers seem important when maintaining the quality of social groups. I will be curious to see this group evolve, and I’m glad that I joined in the first days.

All relationships begin with unknowing. To get to know a person is to train your brain, to construct a reality within it that contains that other person. I’m maybe not sufficiently afraid of strangers, which is a gift of my race and social class, though statistics leave no one unharmed. But I like strangers, new people, potential. I like reaching out, even if now and then I get my fingers bitten. Haven’t lost one yet.

I have no idea what to say

Hugely enticing, right? Relax, I’m just conducting another experiment on you.

Two years and a bit into this blog (which surpasses every other attempt I’ve ever made at journaling both privately and publicly) I have given it a Facebook page. A little test, to see if I can trick the machine into giving me some joy.

Attention in: attention out.

Don’t follow me unless you really want to. I don’t expect to post anything other than, er, these posts. The experiment part? To see what kind of noise I can make by posting *inside* Facebook. The machine doesn’t want you to leave. It doesn’t want you to mention (i.e. link to) the outside world. The more you post its own output, the more it rewards you.

A dangerous game, but only if you can’t step back.

I’m betting my life on next to nothing. Writing as a career is often terrifying. It’s all on me. I must, if I’m serious, use every weapon at my disposal to defend myself, to stake my claim. To get noticed.

And then to be unforgettable.

The Player of Games

I did it. I played the game. I did the tricks, I sat up, I begged. I scheduled my posts. I groomed my hashtags. I added IDs for the visually impaired.

I featured an image. I added a quote. I cross-posted. I rained content.

I should have just had a nap, because I’m exhausted. And I got nothing.

And I wondered in my delirium if maybe if posts weren’t suppressed and artists had reach and fans saw all your content and we didn’t have to pay for even the barest shred of eyeball time that maybe we would all be making money and wouldn’t mind paying.

Twenty bucks says this gets more views than any of my carefully curated content. This Luddite mumbling, this petty little whinge. Better feature an image, keep the variables constant.

And prepare for nothing.

(In the meanwhile, read my previous post, it’s nice and long and has a bit about KJ Charles.)

Why I’m taking the stars off my Goodreads reviews

Disclosure: I got the idea from KJ Charles, whose writing I love beyond reason.  She seems to review a book a day, and never gives star ratings.  As I currently base my (writing) life on her (unintended) teachings (it’s complicated, okay?) I saw no reason not to follow suit, and every reason to do so.

The world is awash in opinions, and where there aren’t words, there are metrics. Thumbs, likes, hearts, reposts, pingbacks. Too often, star ratings become a goad to beat authors with, and sometimes other readers. Some aggressively misguided fans take less-than-perfect reviews as personal insults, and harass reviewers for their honesty.  These same fans will only and always leave their authors five-star ratings, no matter what the book is like. As for me, I can’t predict whether a book I read next month will blow every prior book out of the water (it happens, see KJ Charles) making all my old ratings irrelevant.

So I’m not playing that game. I’m already a bit ashamed of the ratings I assigned when I started leaving reviews. What is a five-star book? One I loved but won’t re-read? Or ought I to save it for the very best, the life changers, the read-it-once-a-year-until-I-die books? But how mediocre is mediocre?  What about books that end up on the dreaded DNF pile?  Those deserve a review because it matters why I didn’t finish, but taste is too big a factor for me to deride a book simply because it wasn’t one I liked. 

And I’m an author too.  Far be it from me to want to harm another writer’s chances to be found by someone who likes different books than I do. So there. I won’t star-rank your books if you don’t star-rank mine. Hate all you want, but do it with words, not algorithms.