Illustration credit: Aaron Lopez-Barrantes

A Portrait of The Author as a Young Person

David Foster Wallace and (Social) Media’s Double Bind

By Samuél Lopez-Barrantes

Mike C. Miley has written a fantastic article about David Foster Wallace and the question of art and authenticity. Miley prefaces his essay with the following conundrum, inspired by a similar scenario found in DFW’s Infinite Jest:

“(1a) You are an individual who writes fiction. As a fiction writer, you are pathologically driven to shun attention and sit in a room alone for months on end and write, write, write. You must write. (1b) But, you are also an individual whose survival requires you to sell your work. As such an individual in modern America, you must pathologically court attention by promoting your work in every conceivable media outlet. You can never fall out of the public eye. (1c) … It is a Double-Bind. (1d) Thus, respond to the question of, what do you do?”

As an individual who writes fiction and hopes to make a living by writing books, I need to “get out there.” But what generally makes a book publishable is part (1a) in the double bind above: I write because I need to, because I enjoy existing in the world of fiction, shunning attention. As a young author, however, I am told it can’t just be about the novel. I myself need to be consumed. I become my own brand. Thus begs the question: in a society that glorifies self-aggrandisement, various gimmicks and constant social media presence, how is it possible to remain authentic?

On the one hand, I dream of making a living as a writer. I also want the recognition. I want to sell books. I want to be reviewed in high-up places. In order for this to happen (if at all) I must Tweet; I must Facebook; I must Instagram and hand out business cards; I must write essays on Medium; in short, I must commodify my Self. Samuél Lopez-Barrantes, a writer, becomes Samuél L. Barrantes, The Author. It isn’t just a novel I’m peddling — I must promote my very existence.

To become published, in a way, is to directly contradict the writing experience.

The problem is I hate this. It feels antithetical. The paradox of writing is that it’s impossible to do well without ignoring (if not outright shunning) all concepts of fame and popularity and “social media presence,” and yet it is impossible to make writing a career without remaining “relevant.”

When done well, writing allows me to forget what others think about me. When done exceedingly well, it allows me to forget about myself. To write is to escape the very notion of needing (or even wanting) to be read … it is to communicate, yes, but this communication is internal, at least initially. For a few hours each day, when things are going well, I’m able to forget about networking and book sales and online reviews; I can lose myself in a world that doesn’t care about Samuél the Author’s existence. And that world, the fictional world, is where the writer truly exists. In DFW’s words, “Writing fiction takes me out of time. I sit down and the clock will not exist for me for a few hours. That’s probably as close to immortal as we’ll ever get.”

The reality — or is it surreality? —of being a published author, however, is that the very shunning of attention that allowed me to write a book has now been turned on its head. There are emails to check, Twitter pages to manage, people to contact, applications for various retreats and grants. All of this is essential to remaining relevant and becoming financially successful , of course, but in terms of being a successful writer, is “remaining relevant” the true essence?

The current obsession and need to be seen and followed and liked seems to be in direct opposition to what it means to be a good person, let alone a good writer. The loudest people on Twitter usually have the most followers. Being incessant, if not outright annoying, always increases awareness. It’s as if we human beings were still in high school when it comes to “social media presence”: the cool kids speak loudly. Arrogance is glorified, not deference. I suspect, however, that we’re addicted to this need for distraction, entertainment, and validation because much like the public’s obsession with entertainment in Infinite Jest, deep down we’re scared to death about feeling irrelevant.

There aren’t any calories in Facebook flags or Instagram hearts.

Social media is simply the latest attempt to measure self-worth. Selfie-sticks are in high production. Instagram and Twitter aren’t going anywhere. We now have to qualify what we mean by “having friends.” The problem is, “maintaining an online presence” has become essential for a generation of human beings. And for the artists amongst us who hope to pay the rent with our creations, how can we maintain authenticty if we’re constantly seeking attention? To become published, in a way, is to directly contradict the writing experience. And I wonder if it’s possible to remain true to what matters (a life of modesty and respect) while simultaneously trying to find more followers and get re-Tweeted? (The word “followers,” by the way, makes me think of some selfie-inspired cult following … the vocabulary of social media would be right at home in Infinite Jest). Is it possible, I wonder, to market Samuél, The Author (I am my favorite commodity!) without sacrificing some essential aspect of Samuél the Writer, the attention-wary human being?

Double-bind, indeed.

So what does a portrait of a young author concerned with authenticity look like in the Age of Instagram? It looks like a confused person, mostly. In a society that glorifies being seen and being liked, being followed and being admired, being swiped left or right, how do we stay humble without hashtagging ourselves into oblivion? What does it mean to remain genuine? How do we even talk about “social media presence” without turning ourselves into a gimmick?

“Something happens in your late twenties,” David Foster-Wallace once said, “Where you realize that how other people regard you does not have enough calories in it, to keep you from blowing your brains out.”

One thing I do know is there aren’t any calories in Facebook flags or Instagram hearts. Only creation can provide sustenance, no hashtags and no filters.

Samuél writes from Paris, France. His work has appeared in the The International Forum for Logotherapy, SLAM Magazine, Paris Lit Up Magazine and Writer’s Digest. His debut novel, Slim and The Beast (Inkshares, 2015) was also the debut novel for America’s first crowdfunded publishing house. 232 people made it happen, and this is why he is a humanist. You can find other writings and inspiration at www.slbfiction.com.