Social Media Has Been Worthless for Years

I’m reading Ava’s Blog again, where she asks if artists really still need social media for their business:

Artists increasingly don't know why their content does well or does poorly, spend more time optimizing for virality than creating (and especially creating things they enjoy), have to continuously adapt and game the algorithm, need to participate in trends to be visible and are subject to being demonetized or banned on a whim based on automated systems. At the same time, everything is being stolen without credit by randoms that even claim to be you, AI is being trained on it and there's an arms race with watermarks and tools to fool AI. It sounds like a massive pain in the ass, actually, and the reason they stay are like 5 huge artists or other businesses they know for whom it works extremely well; the 1% of that group, if you will, and even if the chances are extremely slim to become like that too, they don't wanna give up on it.

To clarify up front, when I use “artist” I mean not only visual artists, but writers, musicians, performers, filmmakers, etc. Basically, all the arts.

My Experiences with Social Media

That said, my relationship with social media as a particular kind of artist, a science fantasy author, is complicated.

Posting drafts on Google+ garnered me a small fandom and brought me to the attention of a small press that seemed legit at first, but eventually proved shady. However, even though I had around 1,000 followers on Google+ when I published Without Bloodshed in 2013 and over 20,000 when the service was killed by Google in 2019 I suspect that I sold no more than 256 copies via social media. I won’t even comment on Facebook and Twitter, though I had established accounts there on the advice of my publisher’s marketing people.

If Without Bloodshed sold enough copies to complicate my tax returns for a few years, it was mainly because people visited my website, and perhaps because for a while Amazon’s recommendation algorithms worked in my favor by pushing the book to cyberpunk fans and readers of sci-fi romance. Yes, it’s also a kissing book, not just an excessively political sci-fi thriller. My wife reads my shit, so I figure I ought to give the lady what she likes.

Being on social media didn’t help with Silent Clarion at all. For one thing, the cover was terrible. For another, perhaps it was a mistake to follow up my first novel with a prequel written in first person from the viewpoint of a major supporting character in Without Bloodshed, given that Silent Clarion is an account of Naomi Bradleigh’s post-breakup working vacation from Hell written as a not-so-affectionate parody of the paranormal romances my wife liked to read, complaining all the while about the cliches.

Nevertheless, until about 2017 I gave social media the old college try, trying to gather followers and garner interest in my fiction. All I got for my pains was burnout. I wasn’t writing fiction. I was writing for The Algorithm™. I could not be my whole self on social media because that would confuse The Algorithm™. Instead, I was obliged to try to create an authorly persona.

I sure as hell wasn’t having fun on social media. It’s bad enough I had to do the emotional labor of presenting an acceptable persona at my day job, but Google+, Twitter, and Facebook weren’t paying me enough for that shit.

Therefore, were I to finish a new novel and seek commercial publication, and an agent asked me about my social media presence, my most likely response would be, “Been there, done that, and it wasn’t worth the hassle. Instead, I’ve got my own website with a RSS feed.” That assumes, of course, that I get past the comp titles question. Now, that would be a fun conversation.

I suspect that no agent in 2025 wants to hear that my comps are Michael Moorcock’s novels of Elric, Corum, Hawkmoon, Erekosë, and the various Von Beks — let alone Roger Zelazny’s Amber saga, C. S. Friedman’s Coldfire Trilogy, Glen Cook’s Black Company novels, C. J. Cherryh’s Morgaine saga, Alfred Bester’s The Stars My Destination, Jacqueline Carey’s Banewreaker and Godslayer, William Gibson’s Neuromancer, Stieg Larsson’s Millennium novels starting with Men Who Hate Women, Neal Stephenson’s Snow Crash, or Matthew Stover’s Acts of Caine. Such an agent would most likely have kittens if I also mentioned even older antecedents, such as Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein, Percy Shelley’s Prometheus Unbound, Goethe’s Faust, Shakespeare’s The Tempest, Alexandre Dumas’ The Three Musketeers and The Count of Monte Cristo, or Rossum’s Universal Robots by Karel Čapek — let alone the Prose and Poetic Eddas or the Odyssey, the Ramayana, and the Epic of Gilgamesh. I’d look like a schmuck, even though my comps are the Devil’s honest truth, because even Caine’s Law by Stover is over a decade old and I know damn well they want to hear about recent titles. Preferably titles they’ve seen on BookTok. For Crom’s sake, I don’t even use TikTok; the only ‘commieware’ I use is licensed under the GPL.

The New Raw Deal vs. The Old Raw Deal

As a writer, I have come to certain conclusions that people who work in traditional publishing might find unreasonable. The authors that get published and promoted by traditional publishers now that they expect authors to market themselves on social media aren't merely capable writers and storytellers, but also seem to all be photogenic, if not attractive enough to be models or actors. It’s gotten to the point where I can't help but wonder if I'm supposed to want to read these authors or fantasize about dating them. This is particularly the case with women, but it seems to be more so with men as well, but neither become writers in order to be ogled by strangers.

Regardless of gender, it seems nowadays that for authors dependent on social media must depend on sex appeal, not merely their talent and craft as writers. The problem with that is that youth and beauty are fleeting. As Dennis Quaid as Harvey said to Demi Moore as Elisabeth Sparkle when he threw her under a bus in The Substance (2024): “At fifty, it stops.”

I don’t think traditional publishing used to be so reliant on an author’s looks and ability to market themselves without assistance before social media. Here’s my understanding of how things used to work. I call it “the Old Deal”.

1. As a writer seeking traditional commercial publication, my job is to write a good novel and sell it to an agent.
2. Once I have sold the agent on, it is the agent’s job to represent me and to one or more of the publishers comprising the New York publishing cartel.
3. Once a publisher buys the publication rights from me via my agent, it is their job to sell my novel to the general public.
4. It is not my job to do my own marketing and promotion; nor should it be, because I’ve neither the skills, the inclination, nor the time since I still have a day job.
5. Once I’ve jumped through all the hoops and gotten published, my job is not to fuck it up by making an embarrassment of myself. That means not getting arrested, not getting drunk or expressing bigotry in public, not propositioning or groping other authors at conventions, and certainly not starting public beefs like the one Norman Mailer had going with Michiko Kakutani. If N. K. Jemison wants to excoriate me in the New York Times Book Review, I’ll take David Lee Roth’s advice: eat ’em and smile. After all, most writers don’t get that kind of attention.

This is not to say that I would refuse to cooperate with my agent and publisher if I went the traditional route again. I would not refuse to do interviews, make public appearances, etc. Nor would I insist that my work be published as-is with no changes whatsoever.

However, I refuse to do my agent’s job for them. I likewise refuse to do the publisher’s job for them. I already did my job, and I think that if an agent or publisher doesn’t want to do the work of selling my novel, they should reject me up front.

Don’t tell me you believe in my novel. Show it with a marketing budget instead of an advance on royalties that I have no hope of paying off if I’m obliged to do my own marketing. It doesn’t have to be the same marketing budget you give your top sellers, but it must be a non-zero value.

Incidentally, if you’re an agent or editor who finds my opinions objectionable for any reason other than my not having my facts straight, I recommend that you dial 1-800-B-DAMNED for a complimentary and summary dismissal. You bought the book; you deal with it. The author did their job; it’s time you clowns did yours. If you’re going to make me do everything myself, and still not make enough money to quit my day job, then why should I even bother with you and your 20th century business model? I might as well go indie, instead. The prestige and legitimacy of being traditionally published won’t pay my rent.

Hell, I’m glad to be out of print. If I had had any sense, or the balls I pretend to have online, I would have just used my website as my publication platform from day one instead of chasing the secondhand, threadbare dream of being a “published author”. What do I care if SFWA members don’t think I’m the real deal?

Social Media is for Bullshit Artists

Why do I hold this stance against authors being obliged to market themselves on social media because agents won’t otherwise represent them and publishers won’t promote them unless they are already strong enough sellers that the publisher need only spell their names right? I have learned through the experiences described above that the only sort of artist that does well on social media is a bullshit artist. By that I mean somebody who devotes their efforts to bullshitting people in the Frankfurtian sense.

If you see somebody on social media whose entire profile and persona is devoted to pushing a particular social or political agenda, regardless of the nature of their agenda, you’ve encountered a bullshit artist. This includes Democratic Party activists pretending to be Marvel Comics characters, as if a New Deal Democrat like Captain America would vote for the spineless neoliberal stooges currently infesting the Democratic Party. It also applies to MAGA propagandists like that mendacious asshole who runs Libs of TikTok and may have gotten Nex Benedict killed with her queerphobic blood libel.

Why do bullshit artists thrive on social media? I think it’s because they understand and embrace the bifurcated nature of the Web 2.0 economy. They don’t mind that the people running the platforms profit financially from their unpaid labor as long as they get attention and exposure. As long as other people buy their bullshit, they don’t mind not getting a paycheck.

Artists are Complicit in Their Own Exploitation

We have a sense of what motivates bullshit artists. They’re here for the culture war and money is no object to them. What about real artists trying to make a living? Social media platforms have only ever had three words for them: “go fuck yourselves”.

They’ve been exploiting artists for years, while denying them what they need to continue creating. This cartoon from The Oatmeal by Matthew Inman, Reaching People, is not new. It dates back to 2017, and while it targets Facebook it can be applied to Twitter, Instagram, Reddit, TikTok, Threads, YouTube, Bluesky, and even the Fediverse.

Nevertheless, every time a new social platform gains traction people keep falling for it. Those queer artists who migrated to Bluesky because Twitter did them dirty without even buying them a drink first? They’re gonna get fucked over again when Bluesky starts clamping down so that it can deliver its backers — Bain Capital among them — that sweet, sweet return on investment.

When some other exploitive platform comes along, they’ll fall for that platform’s lines, too, because they have a type — and that type is abusive. Would they fall for a person who said something like, “I’ll never hurt you, baby; I’m not like them,” on a date? If not, then why in the unholy names of the all the demons ever worshiped by humanity would they fall for such lies from a business?

I have my suspicions, but will keep them to myself because I am trying to be less misanthropic in 2025. (Yeah, I picked a great year for that particular resolution.)

Vain promises to one’s self aside, don’t tell me it won’t happen at Bluesky because it’s run by a “public benefit corporation”. The company that ran Ello was also a public benefit corporation. Where is Ello now? You might find remnants of the unpaid labor of its digital sharecroppers on the Wayback Machine.

This cycle of people devoting their work to a platform that doesn’t value their work only to see that work destroyed when the platform shuts down won’t stop until artists stop believing the bullshit techies sell them about how this platform will be different. Artists aren’t stupid. They’re just all too human, and thus too credulous about claims involving matters outside their specialties.

Yes, I’m blaming the victims. At some point, a repeatedly victimized person needs to accept responsibility for their circumstances and do the work of changing them. They need to let Satan into their hearts and stand up for themselves, because nobody else will.

I have my own website because I’m tired of being conned by other techies. As far as I’m concerned, people dependent on social media have no excuse for not doing the same. Does this sentiment make me a bastard? No, I was born that way; blame my parents.

Why Should I Support Artists Who Cling to Social Media?

In fact, though I made the mistake of creating a Bluesky account, I have not bought a single artwork or album from anybody promoting their work there. Nor will I. I am not there to go shopping. I have no patience or tolerance for ads on social media, just as I have none for ads on TV and radio.

A post purporting to be from Michael Moorcock himself to promote a new novel where Elric of Melniboné and Oone the Dreamthief team up again to attack the twisted roots of Elon Musk’s accursed dreams of power could show up in my feed and I would block the account responsible on principle. An account representing OnlyFans model with the poise and authority of Juno, the wisdom and craft of Minerva, and the body of Venus (with arms) could follow me, start telling me in DMs everything I wanted to hear from a woman, and I would block it on principle.

The principle involved seems simple enough to me: When I want to buy a book, I will go to a bookstore. When I want to buy an album, I will go to a record store. When I want to buy art, I will go to an art gallery. When I want to buy pornography or sex toys, I will go to an adult store. Neither the bookstore, the record store, the art gallery, nor the adult store — or their virtual equivalents online — are to come to me. I detested push technology when it was first introduced, and no iteration on this vile tech has given me cause to change my mind.

If I’m on social media to shitpost about how every Congressional Republican who turns out to be a closet case makes me wonder when Narnia became the 51st state, I am not going to be receptive to advertising of any kind. The more repetitious the advertising, the greater my hatred, and my hatred of advertising is already such that like that of Zemus in Final Fantasy IV, it will outlive me and take on its own tenebrous life.

I’m not joking when I declare that nobody is entitled to my attention. Nor do I indulge in hyperbole when I paraphrase Shakespeare by saying, “Never mind the lawyers. The first thing we do is, let’s kill all the advertisers.”

A Hostile Environment for Artists and Patrons Alike

Because of how such platforms work, every artist must constantly broadcast their sales pitch in order to have a chance at being noticed. Surely it is as wearying for them to constantly advertise as it is for me and others to see these ads.

They’d be better off with their own websites, providing updates using web feeds or in a mailing list that isn’t run by Substack, since Substack is still a Nazi bar. Are there no online directories by which one could find writers, artists, or musicians in a particular genre, style, or tradition? Are there no blogs curating such work and presenting what their operators consider to be the best of it?

I know there’s already an online directory for people making and selling their own pornography on a subscription model. It’s called OnlyFans. I don’t go there because the only woman I want talking dirty to me is my wife.

And if I want to discover new bands, I could go to Bandcamp, or browse sites like Metal Archives, Prog Archives, or the BNR Metal Pages. And for artists, there’s ArtStation, though it might not be ideal and doesn’t seem to cater to lewd art.

Jokes aside, if you know of or run a blog where you review books, music, movies, games, or even OF models then I want you to email me with the URL. My only requirements are that the blog must have a RSS/Atom feed and that it not be hosted on Medium or Substack.

It may seem unrealistic to depend on blogs for curation, but I think that’s because we’re too habituated to the use of social media. For example, I did not hear about a little trans-fronted heavy metal band from upstate New York called Fourth Dominion on social media. I heard about them via the Angry Metal Guy RSS feed and gave their album a listen on the strength of their review. I liked it better than the AMG reviewer did.

Why mention this? I wanted to illustrate that even now, the open web still works. With a bit of effort, one can still discover new music without recourse to social media. Surely one can also discover and support new writers, visual artists, and filmmakers that way too — but they must do some work on their end. I won’t discover my next favorite artist on the Web if they don’t have a website.

After all, I’m rather antisocial on social media. God Herself won’t live long enough to see that change. Nor will She live to see me change my mind about the need to wrest the market for art from the hands of techies and the venture capitalists to back them; to call such people mere Philistines is more charitable than they deserve.