"He's the bestselling author of what the New York Times is calling the cynical wake up call we've been begging for. Dehumanized: The Fate of Human Society takes us on an odyssey through the impacts of social media and its rewiring of our cultures, our lifestyles, and our brains. It's intellectual and thoughtful yet sarcastically hilarious. He is the man of the moment, the latest darling of the bestseller's list and most anti online, terminally online author of our generation, Alexander Preston!"
Applause roared through the studio as I walked onto the stage, squinting in the bright lights boring down onto me. I waved out at the faceless blobs, remaining just out of focus as I sat in the blue armchair opposite the late night show host. In that moment, I was acutely aware of every feeling. The heat of the stage lights, the way the lapel mic scratched against my skin, and the bead of sweat rolling down the back of my neck. I smiled and waved as the applause faded to silence.
"Alexander, do you go by Alexander?" the host asked.
"Alex is fine," I replied.
"Great Alex, we are so glad to have you here, aren't we folks?" there was another round of thunderous applause. I noticed the blinking red of the cue light tucked just above the stage.
"I'm happy to be here," I replied though happy was the wrong word. Anxious, awestruck, afraid. An alliterative chain of possible other descriptions flowed through my brain. But happy was what the host wanted to hear, what the audience wanted to hear. And so that's the emotion I went with.
"Now Alex, you know I've got to ask this. Your book, Dehumanized, which is on sale at every major retailer," there were more cheers, "is what a lot of people call a very cynical and critical take on the role of social media in our lives and where that is leading. Yet, you are a very prolific poster on several social media sites, especially Twitter. Would you say that's hypocritical?"
It was a good question and one I had prepared for. I unfolded my hands which had been tightly clasped in my lap and leaned forward, making sure to appear, as my agent would put it, approachable and friendly.
"I'm glad you brought that up. You know, you read my book and it can come across as 'man this guy really hates social media' but that it's a little more complex than that. Social media is a tool, it is what we make it and we are what it makes us. Everything is good in moderation and, honestly, if you look at my post history, I could do to moderate myself a little more,"
There was some scattered laughter.
"But the point of my book is not to say that social media is evil, it's to point out the levels at which it is harmful. To bring attention to the parts of it that are not used as the tool it's intended to be but as a weapon that destroys rather than creates."
"That's very profound. Tell me, Alex, how did you start the process of writing this novel? Your background is in social sciences, isn't it?" the host asked. I nodded, this was another question I was expecting. So far things were going well.
"It is. I hold two degrees. One is from the University of Georgia, go dawgs," I said as an aside, eliciting a few cheers and claps from the audience, "And the other is from Arizona State. My bachelor's from UGA is in sociology and the my master's is in applied behavioral analysis from ASU. Obviously my degrees are focused on human behavior and the study thereof which led me to this novel. I was curious about the actual impact of social media, what that was doing to us at both a micro and macro scale. So I started to do the research and I met with dozens of clinical behaviorists and psychologists as well as others like anthropologists and even computer scientists to look at algorithms and their impact on engagement. And then we got Dehumanized."
"That is fascinating, did you expect for your book to take off the way it did?"
"No, I really didn't. I fully expected it to flop and be popular in maybe a few scientific circles or none at all and just be a jumping off point for a dissertation when I decided to pursue my doctorate. But somehow it caught on fire and people started reading it and I got reviews from celebrities, including Neil DeGrasse Tyson, which was incredible. Definitely called my mom about that one. And now I'm touring the country doing book signings and late night interviews and early morning interviews, it's amazing and so surreal." I said and there was a round of applause. The host beamed,
"That's incredible. Thank you for joining us here tonight, Alex. Ladies and gentlemen, you heard the man, get your copy of Dehumanized: The Fate of Human Societies wherever you buy books from, available in paperback, hard cover, and digital. Let's get another round of applause for Mr. Alexander Preston!"
There were rousing cheers and a peal of thunderous applause. The lights dimmed and the cameras were shut off. I stood up and shook hands with the host before being escorted back through the wings of the stage and down the hall where my agent, Samira, was waiting for me.
"How'd I do?" I asked as a production assistant undid my lapel mic and pulled the cord and attached pack from under my shirt. Samira flashed me a thumbs up and a slight smile, she never showed much emotion. It was part of the reason I had hired her. She gave short answers, handled things with ruthless efficiency, and was brutally honest.
"You weren't too robotic," she said simply as we walked towards the exit. I nodded, it was high praise coming from her.
"Thanks, what's next on the agenda?" I asked. Samira looked at her phone screen, swiping up as she scrolled through her emails,
"Uh, looks like you've got an early morning show appearance tomorrow, a book signing in the Manhattan Barnes and Noble and then we're headed to Boston by 6pm tomorrow." She read through the list of events we had accepted. There were no doubt dozens more that she had declined on my behalf. Though I appreciated the excitement around my book, I couldn't help but wish for a less hectic life. We'd been nonstop for the past two months and I was honestly exhausted.
"Great," I replied. The doors at the end of the hall swung open and we stepped out through the back entrance to the car that was waiting for us. The driver opened the door and I slid into the backseat and Samira followed behind. The door slammed shut and the driver got back in the front seat,
"How much am I paying for this?" I asked as we started to pull out into the street. Samira looked at me,
"It was handled by the publicists," she replied shortly.
"Coming out of my royalties?"
"Unclear."
Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.
I sighed. I wasn't necessarily hurting for money, but the bills were stacking up and the royalties weren't as high as I would've hoped. The show circuits and book signings would have to come to an end soon unless I was able to leverage a prepaid contract from another publisher or something similar.
"What if we stop after Boston?" I asked. Samira shot me a sidelong glance before directing her focus back to her phone screen,
"That is up to you, but I think you'd be leaving opportunities for more publicity off the table if you do."
"But what's the return on investment? We've been doing this two months and I'm only slightly above water here. This is expensive," I retorted, "You're expensive."
Samira scoffed.
"You're making money, not losing it. That's really all an author can ask for. But we can call this whenever you want and you can go back to Georgia."
"Alright, let's discuss again after Boston."
The rest of the ride was quiet. We were dropped off at the hotel and Samira told me to meet her again at 7 in the morning. I agreed and then got on the elevator and went to my room. I collapsed on the freshly made bedding and stared up at the ceiling, thinking through the day. Did I really want to stop doing this? This was an incredible experience and it was one that few people ever got. So why wasn't I as grateful for it as I knew I should be?
My phone buzzed and I groaned as I pulled it from my pocket. I clicked the power button on the side and the screen flashed a text notification. I unlocked my phone and read it.
Saw you on late night. Great job!
It was from my mom. I smiled and sent her a brief reply,
Thanks! New York is great, love you!
She text back almost immediately,
Jealous! Love you too.
I smiled and checked the time before dropping my phone on the bed. It was late and I was exhausted. I made my way to the bathroom and turned on the shower, letting the water heat up as I undressed. I stared at myself in the mirror for a moment, noticing the lines at the corners of my eyes. I wasn't old, I knew that. But maybe I was too old for this moment in my life. I truly wasn't sure. I stepped into the shower and let the hot water run down my back, closing my eyes as it cascaded down my head and shoulders, running over my body. I took a deep breath, inhaling the steam and letting it fill my lungs. Hotel showers were almost worth all the traveling. The endless hot water was worth the cost of the room by itself.
By the time I stepped out of the shower, my fingers had begun to prune up and the mirror was completely fogged over. I grabbed one of the scratchy white towels folded neatly and stored underneath the sink and unfolded it, drying my hair and rubbing it down my body before tying it around my waist and opening the door to the main room. The cold air hit my skin as the steam flowed out through the open door. I pulled out a pair of underwear and a t-shirt from my suitcase and put them on, tossing the towel to the corner of the room. I laid back down on the bed and fell into a deep sleep.
I woke up to my alarm blaring from my phone and I pressed the screen to turn it off. I turned on the lamp beside the bed and groaned as I slowly sat up and checked the time.
6:15
I got out of bed and stumbled into the bathroom, turning on the light and grabbing my comb. I brushed my hair and turned on the sink faucet so I could shave. I grabbed my razor and a can of shaving cream from the toiletries bag that I brought with me every time I traveled. I squeezed the shaving cream into my palm and worked it into a lather before spreading it across the bottom half of my face. I wet the razor and then slowly shaved away the errant hairs sprouting across my cheeks, chin, upper lip and jawline. When I finished, I rinsed out the sink and shook the razor dry before tossing it back into the bag. I checked my phone again.
6:30
I knew Samira was probably already waiting for me in the lobby. I looked around the bathroom to make sure I had all my belongings, hastily brushed my teeth, and zipped up my bag before throwing it back into my suitcase. I put on a collared shirt and tie and a pair of dark blue slacks. I checked my appearance in the mirror before grabbing my suitcase and phone and making my way down to the lobby. As expected, Samira was already waiting when I arrived. She had two coffees in her hands, she handed one to me.
"God bless you," I said, taking a sip of the scalding liquid.
"The Uber will be here in above ten minutes, underestimated how quickly you'd get down here." Samira said. I laughed,
"You don't have much faith in me being punctual," I said. She rolled her eyes and looked over the rims of her glasses at me,
"Because I know you," she replied sarcastically. "They want you in studio by 7:45, so we're cutting it close but should be fine."
"Yikes, are you sure? New York traffic and all."
"I planned for that, this hotel is only about seven blocks from the studio. Almost walkable."
"And that's why you're the best," I said, shooting her a finger gun with my free hand. She raised an eyebrow,
"Don't forget it."
The Uber showed up a few minutes later and we made it to the studio with five minutes to spare. I was rushed over to production where they fussed with my hair and miked me before getting me out to the mainstage. Another situation like last night. The conversation went roughly the same. I was able to promote my book, make the host laugh, and establish my credentials. Overall, a successful interview but a different audience than the night before. The people who watched this show were more likely to spend their money on my book because they were retirees or stay at home moms, the main demographics of the show's viewers. And like the night before, I was immediately shuttled out to a car. This time we were bound for the bookstore.
"Alright, remember to be approachable and brief with what you say to these people. Sign the books, take some pictures but keep it short. Our flight leaves at 6 and it's already going to be a mess to get to LaGuardia at that time but it couldn't be helped." Samira said. I nodded, indicating that I understood. New York City truly was a busy city and it was exhausting. Atlanta didn't even come close to the sheer magnitude of the hustle of Manhattan.
Samira shepherded me into the Barnes and Noble on Fifth Avenue, its glass storefront revealing the space set up for me before we even entered. A line had already begun to form and someone in the line smiled and pointed at me as we approached the entrance. I waved back, forcing a smile.
"Remember, keep it friendly, keep it short." Samira reminded me as we walked in. I smiled and waved again as the people waiting in line cheered and clapped, drawing the attention of several other bystanders who stared at me quizzically.
"Mr. Preston! Over here," an employee called brightly, waving me over to the table covered in copies of my book. A banner with the picture provided to them of me was set up beside the table emblazoned with my name and underneath was "Author of the NYT Bestseller: Dehumanized." I took my seat and grabbed the sharpie on my right, uncapping it as the first person stepped to the table. She smiled and took a picture with me, I signed her book and she thanked me before leaving. And so it went on like that for about an hour and then there was him.
"Hi," he said with a soft smile and I was immediately captivated.
"Hi," I replied. He looked at me with his big doe brown eyes, that soft smile playing across his lips still as he handed me his copy of my book. I flipped open the front cover, positioning the pen over the blank white space just inside,
"How should I make it this out?" I asked.
"My name is Zach, with a 'ch'" he said.
"Where are you from, Zach?" I asked as I signed his copy, To Zach, thank you for your support. It means the world. -Alexander Preston
"Uh, New Hampshire actually," he laughed nervously, "Not much every happens there so I sometimes take the train down here from Manchester and stay with some friends from NYU for a weekend or so." he explained.
"Very nice, so you went to NYU?" I asked. I could see Samira in my peripheral vision, mouthing at me to wrap up the conversation. I ignored her.
"I did, I got a degree in performing arts. But then life happened and I moved back home to teach in Nashua." Zach explained.
"I get how that is, I grew up in Georgia and moved back after getting a degree at Arizona State. Now I don't know that I necessarily have a home. It's been a solid two months of traveling."
I wasn't sure why I was telling this all to this complete stranger but he was so easy to talk to.
"I'm sure that's hard," Zach said, "If you ever need a change of pace, come visit." he said and he slid a piece of paper towards me. "It was nice to meet you, Alex." Zach said as he walked away.
I took the slip of paper and unfolded it. Scrawled across the torn lined paper was a phone number. I shoved it in my pocket and returned to signing books. The feelings inside of me could only be described as "complicated." I thought about him the rest of the evening.