I
decided to participate in my first Tweetchat last night. For those of you who
don’t know, a Tweetchat is an online discussion of a designated topic at a
scheduled meeting time, using the forum of Twitter.
I was
mentally unprepared for what was about to ensue.
It was
a cold night, so I built a fire, put on some Al Green, poured myself a glass of
cabernet and settled into my big, soft suede couch with my laptop on my crossed
legs. I was ready for a pleasant discussion.
Then
it began.
It
started off smoothly enough. Little smiling faces in squares started popping up
to join the conversation, introducing themselves with polite and enthusiastic greetings
in the area of text beside their photos. This was old hat to them.
I was
hesitant at first. I watched for a few minutes, indecisive about whether or not
I belonged. But then I started to feel like a creeper, a voyeur - someone on
the outside looking in at others who were unaware of my presence. I decided to
take the plunge.
One of
my classmates was already there. She had made her introduction; a quick
sentence about being a college student and that this was her first Tweetchat.
In all my glorious awkwardness, I jumped in and said, “I’m like Lindsey.”
No one
responded to me.
The
number of people joining began to wane, so the moderator started the discussion
by throwing out the first question. I don’t remember what it was, because a
second later, the question was buried way down in my news feed by fast-moving
tweets.
I
started to panic.
I have
to participate in Tweetchats for a grade in a couple of my classes. I have to
join the discussion and save screenshots of people responding to me. My college
career flashed before my eyes: “In over your head. Can’t keep up. Won’t pass.
Can’t Graduate. Back to waiting tables.”
I
pulled myself together and realized that this was just my first attempt and the
assignment wasn’t due for six more days. Breathe. Breathe.
I
thought to myself, “Screw the assignment. Just use this opportunity to figure
this thing out.”
My
eyes widened as I frantically tried to keep up with the tweets scrolling at a
breakneck pace on the left of my computer screen. I’d be halfway through reading
one tweet before it vanished, with a new set of five tweets where it was just a
moment ago. I read and read, trying to figure out what was happening in the
little snippets of information that I could catch every now and then. Then I
realized something: I had no idea what these people were talking about.
The
assignment required that we find a Tweetchat that pertained to something in the
field of journalism: news, advertising, public relations. My professor had
given us a website to go to to find a schedule of journalism Tweetchats. I had accidentally
found one that was being held by seasoned news reporters who had started their
own online newsrooms. I had no idea what any of them were talking about. I wasn’t
supposed to be there.
Then I
thought of something my professor had told us the week before. PR professionals
have to have the ability to be in a huge room full of experts, on any given
topic, and be able to carry on a conversation with each of them.
Sigh.
I
hopped in and started asking questions. Then a miracle occurred: people started
talking to me. I’d fire something out, then I’d get a reply in my mentions
column. It was actually pretty fun. And I learned a lot about the sacrifice
that reporters make when they commit themselves to a story that only that
reporter wants to tell, and that will take a great deal of time and energy. It
was a lesson in principles and determination, and I have a newfound respect for
journalists.
But my
next Tweetchat is going to pertain to PR. I’m not lazy or
this-is-my-field-centric, but I’m still a little scared.
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