Is it just me, or does anybody else loathe Bookstagram? (i.e. Writers' and Readers' Instagram?)

A piece where I do some serious soul searching about Instagram and am brutally honest about how difficult a time I have when I go on it. (Plus, an October event announcement.)

Warning: This is a confessional piece about my own experience of Instagram, and I don’t expect everyone to like it or agree. So read at your own risk. But I do want a space where I can be honest and this is why I started this Substack. Also, this piece was inspired by a separate-but-related guest post I wrote for Emma Gannon’s The Hyphen, “How social media has altered the writing career,” where I realized I had far more to say on the subject and wanted to devote one entire piece just to Bookstagram.

All righty. Settle in because here goes . . .

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Photo by Alexander Shatov on Unsplash

I got on Instagram two and a half years ago. It is very unlike me to be on any social media platforms. I don’t even have a smartphone. But because I write books, and publishing people are always wondering if an author is willing to start a profile and yaddah, yaddah, and some of my lovely MFA students convinced me I might like Instagram because there was this thing called Bookstagram full of readerly, writerly people, I finally started an account.

After two and a half years of being on it (including one year of a hiatus in there—which I’ll talk about in a moment), I have some thoughts. A LOT of thoughts.

Let me start with the good.

At first, I mostly lurked. In fact, I only posted one photo and then posted nothing for a few months. I barely went on it, sometimes I even forgot I made the account.

Then here and there I started posting more—from my laptop, which Instagram hates, because it wants people on their phones—but the laptop is all I’ve got. A younger author friend showed me how to trick Instagram into thinking I was on a smartphone in order to make a post. (Thank you, Emi, author of the wonderful memoir, ACCEPTANCE.)

I started gaining followers (it’s true, I felt a thrill about this), and therefore more hearts on my posts, and I do remember the first time I got more than 100 likes on something. It felt like an enormous accomplishment. I was pretty excited about it.

At the time, I had a book coming out (THE NINE LIVES OF ROSE NAPOLITANO), which is of course why I’d started the thing in the first place. It was mostly fun and only somewhat stressful to be anticipating the release of my book in this public way. It was a weird (translate: kind of cool) thing to be watching people get the arc of my new novel and read it and talk about it on Instagram, because this is an experience I normally do not have access to.

It was also nice when people tagged me about the book and reached out to say hi. (Though, I’ve also found it strange when people have tagged me on not so nice reviews, too. Like, why would you do that?) But the things I’ve enjoyed on Instagram include learning about other people’s books and suggestions of what I should read when I am in a reading rut. One of the best, best things that happened from being on it, is meeting one of my now closest writer-friends, who I enjoy knowing In Real Life. This, and some Bookstagram people who loved my book shared it with so many people and that feels wonderful and special when it happens. I am truly grateful for that support. Of course I am. And yes, yes, I know, there are all kinds of good things about social media, sure, and Instagram and Bookstagram, and blah, blah, blah. Got it.

So, there I was, with my followers growing on Instagram, and my posts garnering upwards of 200 likes—which for me was miraculous. And because I’m being honest here, I will also admit: I got a rush as those likes climbed upwards. I was doing it! I was growing my Instagram! I was doing social media seemingly SUCCESSFULLY!!! Me, Donna Freitas, woman without a smartphone.

Then something really, really terrible happened about two weeks after the publication of my paperback for ROSE and I learned a lot about how I truly feel about Bookstagram:

My father died unexpectedly. My beloved dad, who I spoke to every day, sometimes twice.

And, um, who gives a shit (??) about posting on Instagram to maintain your following and keep it growing when you are grieving your dad? Who cares about promoting your paperback when you are planning a memorial and going through your dad’s stuff?

(You know who? Publishing people.)

But definitely not me. I could barely eat a crumb of bread and take two steps through my living room without weeping. Eventually I managed to post a picture of my dad on Instagram, and explained I’d been absent even though I just had a book out because he died. I even linked to his obituary—because I felt I had to explain why I’d completely disappeared. And I did plan to start posting again. That, really, was the idea. And publishing people really want you to keep posting through it all, even terrible grief. I mean, doesn’t all of Instagram want this from you?

But then you know what? I didn’t start posting again. I couldn’t make myself. I. Just. Could. Not.

Because I was grieving my beloved dad. And that was all I could do.

That and write—because dear reader, I am a professional writer not a professional social media/Instagram poster.

For over a full year, I didn’t post at all. I literally didn’t even go to the site that is Instagram, I ignored it completely, do not pass go. For a lot of those months, I even forgot about it once again. It felt so small and unimportant and even stupid, next to this massively important loss and change in my life. How can getting a bunch of likes on a photo or watching people unpack boxes of books they’ve written compare to grieving the loss of a beloved parent?

During this year completely away from all-things Bookstagram and Instagram, here is what I learned:

My life is so much better without it. My writing life, my general well-being, my self-esteem. I was able to grieve in private, without turning my grief and pain into some fucked up marketable post where people “like” my sadness and loss.

Also, I really came to terms with the fact that I don’t like how I feel when I am witnessing every single thing that happens to every single author in the universe. It makes me feel bad about myself. I went a whole year without feeling bad about myself and my career and my books. My bet is that even the most popular authors feel bad about themselves when they go on Instagram at least some of the time.

And after a total now of 2.5 years on the platform in which a lot of life has happened, I can say in all honesty that as a writer-person:

For me, Instagram, has mostly been one, enormous mind-fuck.

I’ve grown to loathe going on it, because each time I do, I end up feeling (frankly) stressed out, jealous (I’m only human), lonely, forgotten, unproductive, annoyed, disbelieving, oh let me keep listing the (almost entirely) negative feelings I experience when I venture over there. Yes, occasionally I enjoy something, like a baby photo or a cool house picture. But mostly, going on it can kind of ruin my mood, even after witnessing the cutest baby or cat or dog ever, because amid the cute and the fun is often stuff that makes me feel bad.

To conclude—and if you haven’t guessed this already:

I kind of hate this place we’ve invented call Bookstagram. Maybe Bookstagram is only good if you’re not a writer and you’re only a reader? Or maybe it’s not so fun anymore if you’re a reader too (I do wonder this sometimes actually) because everyone, not just writers but readers too, are forced into this performative public display about the books they’ve read, and proving they’ve read this or that. Or maybe I’m totally alone in feeling this way or maybe I’m angering people as they read this by sharing my true feelings. But maybe I’m not totally alone, either?

I know that at least for me, the fun and enjoyment of it doesn’t outweigh all the not-so-fun and not-so-enjoyable times I have when I go on it. It isn’t an ongoing force for good in my life. I don’t like how I feel when I go on it. I don’t like who I am and who I become when I go on it. Plus, I feel pressure to posture.

Also, it’s SO EXHAUSTING.

Then, on top of all this: Do we even know if it helps with book sales for real? (Except in the rarest instances?)

Lastly and I promise finally, I just wonder:

Why have we—book people, writer people, publishing people—saddled ourselves with these enterprises that force us into creating even more content on top of the content we are already hard at work generating—i.e. the books we write and publish? How have we allowed ourselves—and how has this industry allowed authors and writers—to get into this vicious loop of branding our humanity in order to have careers as writers? Why are we forcing ourselves to be the engine of this platform when we know how terrible it is for our psyches and self-esteem? (I mean there are studies done by actual researchers with Ph.D.’s about this.)

I am considering deleting my Instagram. The only reason I haven’t is—you guessed it: Without it, can I still have a career as a writer at this point? Egads. What have we done?

Okay. This is the end of my current rant. Surely not the end of me writing about the subject of social media and the writing career. I also know that over on The Hyphen, my post resonated deeply with quite a lot of people and I felt so much less alone, and which made me feel like I could be honest about this here. How do you feel about all of this?

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CALLING ALL MYSTERY AND THRILLER WRITERS!

Join Donna Freitas (THE NINE LIVES OF ROSE NAPOLITANO & CONSENT) and Julia Bartz (THE WRITING RETREAT) on Zoom for a generative workshop exploring writing on the dark side and the creativity that hides deep within us. In this class, we'll dive into our “shadow selves" and guide you through writing exercises to help you draw out juicy villains and build treacherous landscapes from what lies within—all of which you can use toward a current or future writing project. Whether you write fiction, non-fiction, or simply love to freewrite and journal, this workshop will be a fascinating journey to gain new creative ideas and energy from the rich depths of your unconscious. Cost: $39. Sign up here!