My country is the world. There are no borders, no passports and no countries in the world of social media; only portals to other people’s imagination and musings.
In Three Guineas, Virginia Wolf wrote, “As a woman I have no country. As a woman I want no country. As a woman, my country is the whole world.” And via social media, I have connected with writers from all over the world. My endless stream of consciousness travels around the world through: tweets, my blog and Facebook posts. People of the world open the virtual door to peek at a representation of my world, and I can walk over the threshold to visit their thoughts.
I weave in and out of articles, thoughts, pictures and moments of others. Everyone is documenting stories from their own viewpoint with unique and shared images. I have the liberty to hop aboard someone’s narrative then return home to my own world. Social media allows me to explore the texture of other people’s lives to search for inspiration.
Like Virginia Woolf, I have a room of my own, but I have the company of a computer connected to the world.
While contemplating this brave new world, I wondered if Virginia Woolf would have engaged in social media.
Owing to the power of social media, I could knock on the virtual door of an internationally acclaimed Woolf scholar. Professor Maggie Humm wrote this in her email:
“I think Virginia might well have used social media. She did write for Vogue with a photo of herself; did photograph from the age of 15 (I included over a hundred of these in my Snapshots of Bloomsbury); spoke on the BBC several times and enjoyed seeing a range of films from The Bengal Lancer to newsreels.”
Maggie Humm’s eloquent response made me feel as it I was speaking to Virginia Woolf, in cyberspace.
Snapshots of Bloomsbury showcases the photographs of Virginia Woolf and her sister, Vanessa Bell. Humm’s commentary provides a critical insight into Woolf’s world and ‘the culture and artistry of the period’. Virginia Woolf represented her intimate world in photographs, decades before we became attached to our mobile phones. Now, this is a book I would be proud to own, but I will place it in my battered briefcase. Snapshots of Bloomsbury needs to be enjoyed in the physical rather than digital form. However, I can’t help wondering what images and words Woolf would have chosen to share via social media. If only, I could invite Virginia Woolf to my Chat Room.
Today, I attended the Bennet household. Alas, Elizabeth was not at home. I was rather shocked to be greeted by her father, Mr Bennet. I did not see a servant.
Finally, he asked the parlour maid to show me into the library. Strangely, every book on the shelves has been penned by a Jane Austen. I was most impressed with a book entitled, ‘
Lost in Austen’s books, I read until the clock struck four and my stomach rumbled. Venturing into the corridor, surprised that the house was silent, I decided to depart. A Miss Austen opened the door and insisted on my company. She informed me that Mr Bennet lives in her imagination, but he had been seen loitering on the doorstop on many occasions.
Amused by my breeches, Miss Austen invited me to take tea with her. She smiled when I explained they are cropped trousers. We sat in a very modest parlour. The maid served tea and a buttered apple tart. Delighted that her books had made me forget time, Miss Austen commented that. ‘…for my own part, if a book is written well, I always find it too short.’
As it is almost the weekend, I have asked Jan Brigden to present an extract from her romance novel, ‘
I am delighted to present ‘
As much as he hated how big-headed it sounded, even to himself, he was used to people staring at him. Fact. He also knew that what had happened back there was in no way premeditated on her part; the deep blush and dip of her head when he’d first spoken to her had told him that. How small she’d tried to make herself appear during the ensuing chaos in reception, standing there nervously pulling on the bottom of her ponytail, looking so desperately sorry.
When Rebecca’s friend Abi convinces her to get away from it all at the fabulous Hawksley Manor hotel in York, it seems too good to be true. Pampering and relaxation is just what Rebecca needs to distract herself from the creeping suspicion that her husband, Greg, is hiding something from her.
Jan is a South London-dwelling all-round book devotee, married to Dave, and one eighth of online-writing group The Romaniacs