Tag: twitter

Keep it short

So I sat at my dining room table yesterday, chair in, back straight, legs crossed, phone in hand, and I sexted.

100 sexts.

All very short. Easy writing.

Today I sat down to work on my book. Same book I’ve been working on for years. I used to write a few pages a day. Then, a page a day. That became a paragraph. Now, a couple of sentences.

These days I write short.

A few words and I’m done.

It’s the times we live in. It’s not that I don’t want to write lots anymore. I can’t. I am so distracted and I know it’s because of this digital age.

It’s the same as reading. I used to get through four books a month Now, if I get through one I think it’s fabulous and I tell everyone I know, hey hey, I read a book.

We have all become used to short.

And we’re all distracted. Apparently it’s something about our brains and dopamine and we see one thing but there’s something else to look at and our brains get excited and unfocused and let me just check my emails and look at twitter and one more tweet and oh let me see that article and that video and….

BUT IT’S OKAY!

I am not in a panic. It is what it is.

And I have decided that I don’t need to write books. Or stories. Or even blogs.

I can just stick to titles.

Here are some that I did today.

Other peoples shoes.                                       Fashion.
This chocolate ice cream.                               A love story.
I want him, now.                                             Erotica.
Get yourself that frock.                                   Inspirational.
I dropped my last valium.                             Horror.
I got dressed for gym.                                     Memoir.
I also want to climb the Trump Tower.     Fitness.
The whisky bottle is empty.                           Disaster.

Much better. Easy to write, easy for you to read, everyone’s happy, go check Facebook, look at Instagram, and hey, look at that tweet, cool, thanks, see ya, oh man, is this my blog, where am I, what was I even writing…

writing

Facebook

Today on Facebook I discovered that Mary had a cheese sandwich for lunch and Joe loves his wife so much he just couldn’t manage without her. Suzanne is in a new relationship with Douglas and Rosie’s dog chewed her iPhone.

I liked the cheese sandwich which already had fifty three likes, wished Suzanne a big congratulations even though it is her third relationship in three months, and gave a big shout out to the dog.

And then I updated my status.

Yo Jo’burg, it’s wet and rainy, time to impulsively buy a new pair of boots.

I got ten likes within two minutes.

I thought about ‘impulsively’ going to buy these new boots but instead watched a tutorial on how to apply liquid eyeliner and admired Talia’s holiday pics.

I have no idea who Talia is.

I stalked an old lover, stalked another old lover and thought about stalking a potential lover.

It took a lot of courage not to.

Instead I checked the cheese sandwich. It was up to a hundred and three likes. My boot post was still only on ten.

Ten, even though I hadn’t yet impulsively bought them.

Facebook makes me immobile. I get stuck. I find myself liking things I don’t like. I watch videos that are ridiculous.  I tell the whole world about my boots.  I waste an inordinate amount of time.

I forced myself to close my computer, leave the house and go to the shoe shop. I found the most fantastic pair of boots. I bought them. I photographed them. I put the photograph on Facebook.

And then, in a very strong moment,  I deleted the pic.  And I logged out. I deleted the Facebook app.

And I know it’s only the app on my phone and not on my computer.  But it’s a start.

It’s time to show off my boots. In real life.  They’re cool hey?   Feel free to like them.  Over here…

boots

Pic lifted off the internet!

Sex and technology

I’m sitting in a restaurant and feeling incredibly anxious. I need to check my Facebook messages, my Twitter account and my Violet Online blog for comments. But I can’t. I’m out with my date and we both said how much we hated technology. It would be rude, and I hate being rude.

So, my phone is in my handbag and we’re actually talking. We haven’t been interrupted by a beep once. And it’s kinda nice. He has my undivided attention. I have his. But I haven’t updated my Facebook for about three hours and I’m taking serious strain. Actually, I am in agony.

I gotta do it. I excuse myself and my handbag and I head to the ‘ladies’. I lean against the bathroom wall and take out my phone. Status: Can’t wait for my date to go to the loo so I can check my Facebook. As I’m peeing, I get 4 likes. Not bad, I wouldn’t mind keeping an eye on it. Reluctantly I put my phone away, head back to the table and look into my date’s eyes. They’re a very dark brown. Smouldering. Nice. We have dessert, and then we go back to my apartment.

I suggest he opens a bottle of wine. I pass him the corkscrew and tell him I’m just going to check my mails while he pours. I have to check them, I explain, it could be work. I open my laptop. I have 12 new emails, 14 Facebook notifications and my Twitter is going nuts. I don’t dare check my blog because that means danger.  I quickly reply to a few Facebook posts, update my Twitter – ‘On a Date and he’s gorgeous, worthy of more than 140 char…,’ and go back to the lounge.

He’s sitting patiently, on the couch, wine in hand, no phone or computer in sight. He’s really nice. We chat, we snuggle, we kiss. But I have a dilemma. I’d promised my girlfriends that if the date went well I would let them know just how well, via emoji.

One smiley face – if he was nice.

Two smiley faces – if we kissed.

Three smiley faces – if we had sex.

Four – if the sex was brilliant.

I had to sneak out and send a message. One smiley face. So far, so good. When I came back I noticed he was on his phone, typing a message. He was possibly sending someone a silly emoticon too. But he quickly put it back in his pocket when I came into the room.

‘Violet’, he said. ‘I’d love to spend the night with you. The whole night’.

‘Oh’, I said. ‘I’d like that too.  Give me a minute’.

I went to the bathroom, sprayed a bit of perfume, put on some gorgeous lingerie, instagrammed my panties, checked my phone one last time, tweeted how excited I was, then – with a little difficulty – switched everything off.

And so he spent the night. We had sex and God it was really really good. And then we had more sex and then again and again and  I had no idea a man could come three times like that and I loved it but hey, I also had stuff to do. I was really glad when he finally pulled up the covers, nuzzled my neck and passed out.

How do men do that, just pass out?

When he was in the deepest of sleeps, I crept out of the bed and fetched my laptop. Relief.  I climbed back in next to him and quietly went online. I sent four smiley faces to my girlfriends. Read my mails. Checked my Facebook. Smiled at my 32 likes. Updated my twitter. Wrote this blog. And finally,  I could fall sleep next to him. It was perfect.

God Bless technology

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