I visited the newly renovated AGO yesterday for the first time and fell madly in love.  I was overwhelmed by expansive emotions that want to be shared.  So I whipped out my iPhone and began tweeting.  @mcphadenmike @inkcanada @johncallaghan @Positronics @Mutanto @jennschac among others were there to greet me and responded enthusiastically to my enthusiasm.

I’ve been wondering recently about my obsession with the internet.  Why on earth do I have two blogs, accounts on Facebook, MySpace, Stumble Upon, FriendFeed, Digg, Delicious and Twine (to name but a few)?  Why do I Twitter obsessively?  Why do I spend every spare waking hour developing drama for the web when clearly there is not a cent to be made in the pursuit?  When people ask me about this I often tell them that I enjoy the feel of brick against my head.  When I sit down to self-assess I only get far enough to conclude that I’m insane and then take solace by sharing links with @RobboMills.

But there at the AGO, 140 characters at a time, @inkcanada helped me arrive at an epiphany.

I get high in the presence of art and the very walls and staircases of the AGO are art, never mind what’s hanging on the walls.  I was filled with joy and excitement and the manic bursting feeling you get that makes you want to shout from rooftops (or is it just me?). I was tweeting back and forth with @inkcanada about Twittering and art. Looking at the works from the 1960s, including brightly coloured slogans, some underscored by Stones tunes, I started to wonder if Twitter would be part of a collection of artwork representing 2009.

To which I replied that Twitter is a form, distinct from blogging and screenwriting.  Closer to poetry, KW replied, but still encompassing story.  And interactive, added I, interactively.

I had just come to the conclusion that the real benefit of Twitter for writers, is that there isn’t time for self-censorship.  When you first sign up, you wonder whether you’ll ever use it and to say what exactly?  Then you worry about each Tweet and whether you should throw it out there or not and what the impact will be and whether someone will critique it.  It’s the writing version of the shy bladder phenomenon where you’re afraid to commit to words in front of the others.

It’s one thing to write when it’s a paying gig.  If it comes out stupid, that’s cause that’s how the client wanted it.  Any of your peers who see or read it and judge it wanting will also know that you got notes and were probably forced to mitch it up.

But then you get Twitter and there are no notes.  Direct from your head/fingers to the world.  Whoa.  What the hell do you say?

I apparently have that part down with over 1000 tweets on my personal account (never mind, the accounts for the Story2.OH characters).   But is it all a giant wank?  Time waster extraordinaire?

Standing there in the AGO, I concluded that Twittering helps me-the-writer to turn off my self-censor.  Now that I’ve been doing it for a while, I automatically look for moments in my life that I can share with the Tweetosphere.  Those little moments, things you observe, feel, conclude, wonder about, tiny moments of triumph or defeat — they are beats/Tweets/the smallest unit of story/the most basic elements of writing.  The moments worthy of telling.  The elements you shape into your story.

Wedged as I was between the real world and the virtual one, I was pretty chuffed with myself.  Aren’t I the profound thinker?  I tweeted it out there: the benefit of Twitter to a writer is that it helps you learn to stop censoring yourself and write from a more personal place.

Then @inkcanada replied:

Right!  Of course.  Karen Walton is so much smarter than I am.  I love the internet, but she married it. That’s the reason for all the Twittering. That’s the point of all my goofing around on the Internet, my Facebooking and blogging and exploring how to tell story on the web.

I’ve been searching for my voice.