It’s a Tuesday in late August, and the leaves of a small maple tree outside our living room window are glowing in the early morning sun. This summer has felt long, yet over before it began; summers have a tendency to feel both ways at once.

It’s difficult to know how to contribute to a blog these days. Being public about one’s thoughts leaves a person open to criticism that can feel frightening. I have been surprised and sometimes hurt by what certain friends, colleagues, and even relatives post online. One of the things that shocks me is the virulence with which someone comes after another who expresses even the slight disagreement in a public space. So I’ve been hesitant to be open about my day-to-day thoughts, as I once was on my blog or in my writing.

I’ve been thinking a lot about the responsibility of speaking up on important issues vs. the concepts of privacy and self protection. It’s a tricky, difficult thing. I feel it’s important to stand up for what we believe is right, especially when we see suffering—human, animal, or planet—and there is something we can do about it. At the same time, the effectiveness of “speaking up” online has been diminished, if not completely extinguished, by the flood of misinformation, disagreement, and general “noise” on social media. Many times I’ve “bitten my tongue,” so to speak, when I see someone has posted something I strongly disagree with. But I keep coming back to something I read somewhere, maybe it was a “meme,” that basically said: Has anyone’s mind ever been changed by something posted on Facebook or Twitter? In fact, when we “argue” by responding to someone’s post online, all we do is help that post rise in the platform’s algorithm, leading to its exposure to more people.

At the same time, when the world turns its eyes away from injustice, it’s important not to remain silent. So I honor those who jump into the fray and speak up, and I continue to support them on the issues I deeply care about. I wonder sometimes if my own fear or reticence has to do with my background. For me, fear feels very real and danger very possible.

The whole environment has led me to a lot of soul-searching as I contemplate the time and direction of effort spent on social media. As an author, it’s practically a requirement to be publicly visible. Part of our “job” is to help readers find us. Publishers like to see that we are “out there” connecting with readers and potential audiences for our books and publications. Even without publishers, most writers hope readers will find and be interested in their work, and in today’s environment readers often find us through social media. But it takes time and effort to navigate the online world, especially as more platforms pop up and attract different audiences. I used to help businesses manage their social media platforms as a freelancer, but even someone like me who did the work professionally can feel intimidated by the range of platforms out there now, the new love for video, and the time it requires to be effective online.

So…considering all of the factors involved—the vitriol and misinformation, the crazy amount of “noise,” and the time and skill required to truly be effective on social media —what should a writer, or anyone attempting to connect with others online, do?

That’s an individual choice for each of us. But in my case, I’ve decided it is more important to live in the real world than the one that’s online. I speak up, but in person in my daily life, and in ways I find more effective in forwarding change than social media (such as taking part in or donating to organizations that do important work). Don’t get me wrong; I fully support the efforts of those speaking up when it’s important not to remain silent, as I still do on rare and critical occasions. I also enjoy the thoughts and comaraderie of friends on private pages, such as Facebook. I’m just choosing, for the most part, another course. For me, social media is becoming more a place to share photography.

This brings me back to my own writing and how much to reveal about myself in a public way. In my latest book, a fiction collection titled Soul to Soul: Tiny Stories of Hope and Reslience, one of my goals was to honor a wide range of voices and experiences. The characters in the 100-word stories in the book come from a range of backgrounds and countries (even species). It felt important to me to let readers know that I understand that perspectives differ, yet the concepts of humanity, hope, and resilience transcend those differences.

Meanwhile, Message from a Blue Jay, my memoir-in-essays (a collection of personal essays), will be re-issued on December 1 by Huntsville Independent Press in a 10th Anniversary Edition. The new edition features new content: two essays not included in the original book, a foreword by my colleague and award-winning novelist and memoirist Joan Schweighardt, and a publisher’s note. When I wrote that book I was studying the genre of creative nonfiction, and I was encouraged by my faculty mentors to “go for the jugular” in my writing, not to shy away from challenging topics or from exploring difficult feelings.

Could I do the same thing today, ten years later? I’m not sure. It’s a work in progress, especially after years of navigating the literary landscape that so many writers experience, one of hierarchy and far more rejection (of people and work) than acceptance. I have been rebelling against this lately, this idea that I am—or my work is—somehow “less than” someone whose writing is deemed by others as more poetic, skillful, or important. The one fundamental principle I realize I stand for is this: no one is more important or “better” than anyone else. No one. That doesn’t mean one can’t improve as a writer or that one’s work is always ready for publication. But it does mean that our value as human beings, including the value of our contributions to society and the respect we should give to others or deserve ourselves, has nothing to do with Pulitzer prizes or reviews in The New York Times.

Lately I’ve been reading Letters to a Young Poet by Rainer Maria Rilke, a book given to me long ago by a dear friend. Though Rilke was writing in a far different time, his words still resonate. The words below that I recently read hit home for me, so until we meet again here, I will leave you with them now.

“You ask whether your verses are good. You ask me. You have asked others before. You sent hem to magazines. You compare them with other poems., and you are disturbed when certain editors reject your efforts. Now (since you have allowed me to advise you) I beg you to give up all that. You are looking outward, and that above all you should not do now. Nobody can counsel and help you, nobody. There is only one single way. Go into yourself. Search for the reason that bids you write; find out whether it is spreading its roots in the deepest places of your heart, acknowledge to yourself whether you would have to die if it were denied you to write. This above all—ask yourself in the stillest hour of your night: must I write? Delve into yourself for a deep answer. And if this should be affirmative, if you may meet this earnest question with a strong and simple “I must,” then build your life according to this necessity….draw near to Nature. Then try, like some first human being, to say what you see and experience and love and lose.”