When the English novel was first invented, those who considered themselves learned dismissed it as a medium for the masses. True art, at the time, was written in verse, not in prose. Scholarly essays were written in rhyming schemes, with Alexander Pope’s works being among the most notable examples. If you had something to say, you certainly didn’t write it in plain English; it took skill and taste to turn a phrase, while creating a book was akin to word vomit.
Of course, if you look even further back, the same was once said about Shakespeare’s plays—they catered to the uneducated public. As plays were eventually elevated as an art form, so were novels. Film and television achieved the same status. We’ve even seen video games and graphic novels considered higher forms of art and storytelling, though their credibility is still building. In short, storytelling mediums evolve, and while initial pushback claims new mediums will never be capable of engaging with resonant themes, complex characters, or social dilemmas, time eventually alters taste.
Several candidates for the newest contentious artform can be found on the internet today. Video-based formats especially, like YouTube, could be and have been developed into something more than mere viral clips. Web comics have also explored complicated concepts in unique and funny ways, as demonstrated by Allie Brosh’s “Adventures in Depression.” Yet the area with the most potential for truly groundbreaking narrative storytelling is also the medium with the most likely pushback by more traditional critics: Twitter.
Social media in general provides an interesting avenue for telling stories, but Twitter is unique in its combination of restricted installment length and active participation by audiences. Writers must tell their stories in small snippets, though they can augment the text with images or video clips. Followers can interact with the writer and the story, tossing out theories as to its resolution, expressing glee or displeasure, and talking to the creator directly. In some ways, it could be considered a successor to old serial storytelling, but with a more interactive element.
One of the best, recent examples to gain widespread attention is Dear David. Writer and artist Adam Ellis started tweeting in August of 2017 that his apartment was being haunted by the ghost of a dead child named David. The tale starts as one thread but evolves over the course of several months, escalating the action much like a traditional horror story. The spooky elements start out simply as odd sounds or unusual behavior by Ellis’s cats, before escalating into dreams and surveillance footage that reveals the titular ghost standing over Ellis as he sleeps.
However, Dear David isn’t the only instance of Twitter horror storytelling. In fact, enough artists have taken to the platform to tell creepy tales that Twitter horror could be considered its own genre. Spanish screenwriter Manuel Bartualfamously recounted seeing his doppelganger while on vacation, and began chronicling the growing strangeness over the course of several days. He soon revealed the narrative was a project he wrote for fun, but the account gripped readers, so much so that Bartual created an English Twitter account to post the thread for a wider audience.
Similarly, an unknown Twitter user who simply went by @gr3gory88 created what has been called “The Greg Thread.” Unlike Ellis and Bartual’s stories, Greg’s Twitter account seems to have been created specifically to tell the tale, while the other two had existing accounts with an established platform. Greg appeared out of nowhere and only used the thread to talk about his increasingly bizarre experiences trying to sell his grandfather’s house isolated in the woods. Odd relics are found in the forest, blank notebooks reveal hidden messages, and mysterious figures seem to watch the house. The tale takes perhaps the weirdest, but most creative turn of these examples, committed to worldbuilding in a way unseen in other Twitter narratives.
Much like Dear David, the Greg Thread lasted for several months. However, in between installments of the Dear David saga, Ellis would use his Twitter thread like normal, lending credibility to the tale. Greg’s story was certainly voraciously consumed by those who heard about it, but Greg was unknown outside the narrative. Ellis utilized his existing following effectively, knowing he had a built-in audience and testing the limits of their belief. This required suspending the Dear David tale occasionally to tweet about his normal life; in the process, those normal tweets became a part of the Dear David story as well, injecting mundanity into the horror to make the next scares more effective. Sometimes there would be huge gaps in which he wasn’t active on the site at all, another rhetorical tactic that contributed to the story. Had David gotten to him? What was happening in that haunted apartment? The constantly updating nature of Twitter makes silence a narrative device.
The distinctions between these approaches illustrates the evolution of a new storytelling medium. Some are more sophisticated than others, but all of these creators are experimenting with the most effective way to tell a tale that resonates with the audience. Nonetheless, the inherent distinctiveness of Twitter storytelling is also its inherent weakness: its interactivity. In order to sustain a gripping account over the course of several days, weeks, or months, a writer must maintain tension. The average horror storyteller only needs to keep someone’s attention for the length of a book or for two hours in a movie theatre. Plot holes are less likely to be noticed and suspension of disbelief is less likely to be upended. By contrast, constantly giving tidbits to readers and encouraging real-time responses over a sustained period of time also invites analysis, discussion, and doubt.
Furthermore, part of the pleasure of any social media storytelling is the ephemeral nature of it. Dear David and the Greg Thread are fun to read after the fact but catching them as they develop is a bit like seeing a one-time live show; there’s a magic to the fact that everyone is witnessing something as it progresses. This is both a fault and a virtue. Because the way one consumes this type of story is an integral part of the medium, those who miss out have a harder time getting caught up in the atmosphere the tale is creating.
As a result, good social media storytelling has to adapt to use those aspects to its advantage. Greg wielded the anonymity of Twitter to tell a story in a vacuum, letting it unfold quietly. Ellis balanced his increasingly outlandish claims about David with normal Twitter background noise, and then wielded silence to increase anxiety. He also took the advice of actual readers, such as burning sage in his apartment, to lend credence to his claims of being haunted and make readers feel like they played a substantial role in the development of the story. Bartual kept his story brief, recognizing that his chosen narrative couldn’t be maintained long-term. All of these creators, and others currently working on the platform, are taking advantage of the quirks of a new medium to find new ways to scare, and they’re doing it in real time.
You may not be capable of writing a full-length novel. You may not be a screenwriter or a poet or a filmmaker. However, that doesn’t mean there aren’t avenues to tell a story. At Trellis, we embrace emerging forms and mediums, and welcome clients who are looking to tell a new story in a new way. Let us know what you envision, how you want to interact with your audience, and ways we can help you break the mold. Contact us today to get started!