Don’t Know What to Post? Try This!

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To my dismay, my Instagram algorithm has been showing me influencer content—not content by influencers, but content aiming to help users become influencers. With increasing frequency, reels pop up in my feed with captions like this: “Don’t know what to post today? Try this!” or “Not sure what to share? Use this trending audio.”

These videos leave a sour taste in my mouth. I’m tempted to make one that says, “Don’t know what to post? Try not posting!”

If I don’t know what to post, I don’t post. But this common-sense approach is completely counter to internet culture, which incentivizes the constant production and consumption of content—regardless of whether that content contributes anything meaningful, beautiful, or helpful.

I am reminded of Proverbs 30:15–16:

The leech has two daughters:
    Give and Give.
Three things are never satisfied;
    four never say, “Enough”:
Sheol, the barren womb,
    the land never satisfied with water,
    and the fire that never says, “Enough.”

Paraphrased for our social media age, these verses could easily read:

The internet has two daughters:
    Give and Give.
Three things are never satisfied;
    four never say, “Enough”:
Sheol, the barren womb,
    the land never satisfied with water,
    and the algorithm that never says, “Enough.”

I’ve found through personal experience and dissertation research that the pressure to constantly curate and share digital content is particularly strong among writers. Because so much of communication is online, our work relies on digital engagement. The more we post, the more visibility we are awarded by digital platforms, which means more users follow our accounts and (in theory) support our work.

Not posting, then, feels like a missed opportunity. It can be anxiety-inducing to watch engagement and followers decline after a spell of digital quietude. Is it any wonder that digital FOMO (the fear of missing out when not active online) is notably more intense among gig workers and content creators such as writers?

But my fear of God outweighs my fear of algorithms. I am constantly drawn to Matthew 12:36. Here, Jesus says:

“I tell you that on the day of judgment, people will give an account for every worthless word they speak.”

I appreciate that the New English Translation renders the Greek term here (ἀργὸν) as “worthless,” for that is what so much online content is: worthless words written in a desperate bid to keep viewers’ attention. Even the word “content” perturbs me. It has a nasty feel to it, reducing particular art forms to generic slop and treating digital users like livestock who will consume anything offered to them. (On that note, did you know that social media companies actually refer to their users as “data cows”?)

As I set aside my phone the other day, disgusted by yet another “Don’t know what to post? Try this!” reel, I was reminded of my current devotional reading: Precious Remedies Against Satan’s Devices. This gem of a book by Puritan preacher Thomas Brooks advises Christians on how to recognize and resist common temptations and deceptions—a far from “worthless” topic.

But while the main chapters of this book have been deeply edifying, I was most struck by the introduction, in which Brooks offers an apologetic for writing a book at all. He acknowledges the danger of unchecked publishing, and humbly explains why he felt Precious Remedies was a necessary resource. He addresses his readers, writing:

“Beloved, I think it necessary to give you and the world a faithful account of the reasons moving me to appear in print, in these days, wherein we may say, there was never more writing and yet never less practising…”

This was in 1652.

Nearly four centuries later, we live amid a literary abundance Brooks scarcely could have imagined. Self-publishing has not only become normalized but popular. Traditional publishers pump out books as consumer products, trying to keep pace with the commercial demand of Bookstagram and BookTok. More ISBNs are assigned annually than ever before. Public domain works are available for free online. We post and comment with reckless abandon and unrelenting regularity, trying to attract algorithmic favor. Our reading has never known such quantity, though the quality is often dubious. What are we reading? “Words, words, words,” we reply with Prince Hamlet’s lack of specificity and comprehension.

If ever there was an age in which there was never more print and never less practice—never more content and less character—we are living in it. We are drowning in it.

I am an avid reader and passionate writer, as you likely know. I hope to blog for the rest of my life and to publish many more books. However, I wish we would recapture something of Brooks’s circumspect approach—not being pressured into posting and publishing except when we are sure that we have something worth sharing.

There is value to having a writing and publishing schedule, and I admit that I could do with more regularity. I would like to get into a routine of blogging at least once a week. But I would rather err on the side of under-posting than over-posting. When I stand before my Lord, I would rather give an account for the words I did not share than those I posted thoughtlessly, hastily, or pointlessly.

All that to say, my Instagram followers may decline in the coming days. I don’t have anything urgent to share on that platform just now. And my blogging has slowed a bit as I focus on other duties. But I want to serve my followers and subscribers quality music and writing—not stuff them with vast quantities of empty content. I do not simply want to contribute to their scrolling addictions for my own superficial gain; I want to help them curate thoughtful reading and listening habits that will transcend the digital sphere to truly enrich their lives.

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