Being Mindful of Twitter Power

There are always two (or more) ways to frame something, reminds Ellen Langer. Remembering that is part of being mindful.

I've heard people frame Twitter as a mindless pursuit. But... may I suggest a different perspective?

Last year I wrote a post called 10 Reasons to Write (Or Not) a Book About Writing. Someone I didn't know, called @fictwriter, tweeted the post. Not long after, Jane Friedman, who was working for Writer's Digest at the time, clicked through the tweet link and left this comment on the post...

Found your post through Twitter (@ficwriter). I work at Writer's Digest, and understand the dilemma! But if you decide you want to do it, we'd love to see your proposal.

Jane's words stuck with me, even though I categorically decided I would *not* write a book about writing. In fact, I was too tired to think about writing anything at all, having already put myself to the task of book-writing several times.

Still, when I went to a picnic this June and got my title handed to me, I remembered Jane's words. It made me think the project was not just fun but also viable.

So again I turned to Twitter. One Saturday morning I asked my friends, "If I was, say, writing a book on writing, what would you want included?"

Their answers helped me shape the book. A lot.

Today the power of Twitter has come full circle to Jane. Remembering her comment so long ago, I mentioned that I had actually done the book, largely thanks to her comment. As a result, she read the book, and today I am tweeting her post, which excerpts the book that Twitter brought to life.

Twitter a mindless pursuit? Not for me. :)

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Care to join us at The High Calling for a bookclub discussion of Mindfulness, by Ellen Langer?

Writing Comes from Reading

Soon I'll be sharing my writing-teacher secrets, as part of Rumors of Water: Thoughts on Creativity & Writing.

Oddly, many of my secrets look like living. And reading. A lot.

My sweet Sara reads about a six hundred (unassigned) books during a school year and a great deal of poetry. All that reading, I'm convinced, has shaped her writing. Here, for instance, is one of her contributions to the sonneteering we've been doing over at Tweetspeak. It makes me think... I need to read... a lot more sonnets if I ever want to catch up with her abilities.

(Though not a perfect sonnet by any means, she wrote this one in 10 minutes, while I was also bothering her about coming to answer a phone call. Yeah, I'm proud of her. Forgive me? :)

The Narrator

I'll tell you now a tale both sad and true,
the story of the cuckoo in the tree
across the endless, vast, and wave-filled sea.
And of the flute, the crying notes it blew
to break and make a spell with one bright tune,
and what it did to everyone, and me,
a girl who only wishéd to be free
of the wicked witches, and now you

say that I know nothing of all that time.
Well, I'll tell the tale both loud and clear.
I'll even tell it—listen now—in rhyme.
And then I'll take from you, all you hold dear
and we will know the truth, and know the lie.
I'll make you beg on bended knees with tears.

— Sara Barkat, age 14


This poem is offered for The High Calling and Tweetspeak's Random Acts of Poetry/PhotoPlay celebration.