Lightning Flash Writing

Sometimes I dream of disappearing. Not in a sinister way—no secret island, no burner phone. Just… quiet. Offline. Gone from the feed. No posts. No pings. No expectation to “share” or “engage” or keep any algorithm happy.

I’ve been online since I was 13. Eighth grade, SNL message boards. Then Diary-X. LiveJournal. Blogger. The earliest versions of me spilled out in pixels. The internet was a lifeline, a stage, a confessional, a playground. I wasn’t the “main character,” but it still felt like my little broadcast tower to the world. “Allison on the Air,” I used to think, even though that was (thankfully) before it was so easy to share video clips online. I shared words and photos because it felt like living out loud.

Now, nearing my 40s, I’ve got websites, portfolios, multiple profiles, and this newsletter. And I still feel that compulsion to post—to log the books I read, to recommend what I love, to stay “present” and visible for networking, for community, for relevance.

But lately? The loudest urge I feel is the one telling me to unplug.

Not just a weekend “digital detox.” I mean truly stepping back. No pressure to post or promote. No performative reading lists. No digital breadcrumbs leading back to me. What if I read something just for me and didn’t add it to Goodreads or make an Instagram post? What if I wrote something and submitted it and didn’t announce it?

Would it still count?

I love talking about books and writing, and I probably always will. But I’m feeling a shift. Of course, it’s complicated. Freelancing, writing, even being a human in 2025 means being connected. Building a presence. Networking. I’ve built much of my work and community online—how could I leave that behind? Why would I even want to?

Because it’s exhausting. Because part of me is still that 13-year-old who once thought vanishing like Richey Edwards from Manic Street Preachers sounded romantic somehow. These days, my fantasy is less about vanishing mysteriously and more about a soft, slow fade into privacy.

And yet, I’m here. Still showing up. Still sending this. Because I don’t want to disappear entirely. I just want to stop being online as a lifestyle. Maybe I want to stop doomscrolling. Spend less time staring at a screen. Live a little less documented.

This is a little reading list I’ve been piecing together: books that grapple with digital life—chats and emails, dating apps, catfishing, and the constant scroll. Many are YA, but they speak to this moment of always being connected… and what it means to step back.

Books about life online:

• Fake by Donna Cooner
• True to Your Selfie by Megan McCafferty
• No Filter and Other Lies by Crystal Maldonado
• Follow Your Arrow by Jessica Verdi
• Don’t Read the Comments by Eric Smith
• Snail Mail, No More by Paula Danziger and Ann M. Martin
• The Summer of Jordi Perez by Amy Spalding
• Not Your #Lovestory by Sonia Hartl
• Attachments by Rainbow Rowell
• Fugly by Claire Waller
• Last Girl Ghosted by Lisa Unger
• One Lucky Subscriber by Kellye Garrett
• Followers by Megan Angelo
• People Like Her by Ellery Lloyd

Got any favorites to add to this list? Or how about books about the opposite – ones about disconnecting or reclaiming your life from the feed?

Let me know. Or don’t. Maybe just close this window and go for a walk. Or read something lovely and not post about it.

You can give this writing prompt a try whether you’re typing or hand-writing your piece.

Write a story told in a digital format: through text messages or IMs, emails back and forth, social media posts, Instagram captions – or all of the above! How would people type and would they say what they mean? How can you uncover the story here?