Amazon really isn’t trying to destroy bookstores. It isn’t trying to save publishing. It’s just trying to make money, and lots of it. In doing so, Amazon is following a principle that was stressed to me over and over in my graduate publishing program at Emerson College: like any other business, publishing is about making money. It’s not about books. It’s not about ideas. It’s not about editorial standards. It’s not about authors. And it’s certainly not about readers, either. All of these elements are just shiny, fun decorations on the publishers’ money train, which was badly derailed by technology and may never get back on track. The big problem (for publishers) is that Amazon has succeeded in making money from publishing and book sales where (many) traditional publishers have failed. Bringing down bothersome distribution and stocking costs through strategic warehousing and inventory has made it possible for consumers to pay less and Amazon to sell more. So what’s at the heart of the publishing problem?

Here’s something you might not know about bookstores: they return a huge number of the books they buy to the publisher, between 30-40%. Any unsold bookstore stock can be shipped right back for a refund (of the price the bookstore paid, which is far lower than the list price consumers would pay, the huge costs of returns to publishers being a big component of bookstore price markup). The publisher may then remainder these books, selling them at a huge loss, or just straight up destroy them. In a sense, then, by shopping in your local bookstore, you’re subsidizing the destruction of trees, printing of books, and shipment of products from publishers to bookstores and back.

Returns are publishing’s catch-22: difficult to make a profit with them, impossible to sell to bookstores without them. Bookstores may over-order titles that have a small chance of selling well, confident in the knowledge that they can return the copies if the book doesn’t take off. The returns system makes bookstore buyers generous and overconfident in ordering—and makes publishers take a big hit. In some sample P&L’s I made in a grad school course, the cost of returns was 160% the total profit of the book. It’s a persistent problem in the industry.

Amazon doesn’t get around the problem of returns—you can return almost anything to the retail giant. It does get around the problem of inventory, at least to some extent. By building a sophisticated inventory management and shipping infrastructure that can get almost any product to almost any place in almost no time at all, Amazon has created efficiencies of scale that smaller stores can’t match. And by selling so many products, it has tons of ways to cover its ass for any one product line that loses money.

If you didn’t know about returns, you probably didn’t know that book publishers tend to lose money on almost every single title they publish. Really. The profits from one or two big authors (think Stephenie Meyer or J.K. Rowling big) often subsidize the rest of a publisher’s catalog. Publishers spend most of their time chasing big hits like this—not promoting smaller titles.

So your local bookstore promotes local authors, provides you valuable book recommendations, thought-provoking author readings, and a fun place to hang out. Great. Why not fund all that, instead of clinging to a clearly broken (and expensive) book distribution framework as the primary financial support for local culture?

In Amazon’s 2010 shareholder letter, Jeff Bezos said, “Many of the problems we face have no textbook solutions, and so we—happily—invent new approaches.” Inventory is the big problem of publishing. It didn’t have a textbook solution, but Amazon helped invent a technology one. People who love reading should take advantage of that solution, and build a new way to support cultural events and authors. The new way doesn’t have to start with the traditional bookstore. It might, but it doesn’t have to.

Don’t get me wrong. I like books. I was an English major (which seems less and less like a wise decision, but I enjoyed it at the time). I then got an even less useful graduate degree in publishing. I read all the time as a kid, for lack of siblings and friends (don’t mock). And I’ve lived in a lot of cities, most of which I can define by amazing independent bookstores: Portland means Powell’s. Austin means BookPeople. Boston means Harvard Book Store and Brookline Booksmith.

In Seattle, however, I haven’t found a favorite bookstore (I know, I know—it should be Elliott Bay Books, or Left Bank if I’m feeling alternative, or BLMF if I’m feeling underground—literally). Is that because Amazon has crushed this city’s literary soul? I don’t think so. I think it’s because Richard Hugo House, Seattle Arts and Lectures, Town Hall, 826 Seattle, and other literate organizations provide plenty of engaging events. I think it’s because I work right next to the (transcendently beautiful) Seattle Public Library, which happens to have an excellent Android app, an equally excellent holds system, and a fair share of e-books (if an initially confusing layout). I think it’s because there’s a coffee shop on every corner where I can curl up with my Kindle (Fire) or a real book (often library). I think it’s because technology is changing my life, and will always continue to do so. But it will never make me stop reading.

I don’t actually think Amazon is so great. I mean, it’s unquestionably great at what it does, which is sell a lot of shit and make a ton of money. But I have no illusions that Amazon is well-intentioned, or that it has any intellectual intent behind its reinvention of the publishing industry. If Amazon is reinventing publishing (and it surely is, in a way), it is doing so in service of one goal and one goal only: more profits for Amazon. None of us can make any mistake about that.

At the same time, shopping at your local bookstore cannot stop Amazon, or e-commerce, or electronic publishing. It can only delay the eventual takeover of local bookstores through weak, indirect financial support that subsidizes a bloated, unprofitable or not-too-profitable industry. Think: would Amazon have been able to take off so far so fast on the basis of bookselling if traditional publishing had been lean, innovative, and profitable across the board? Absolutely not.

Inventing a new system of supporting bookish minds probably can’t stop Amazon, either, but it can do a better job of supporting local literate culture. So why not try that instead? Traditional publishing hasn’t succeeded in saving bookstores, nor in supporting authors. Even Aimee Bender—a real live professional author you may have heard of, who has published some books—says it’s hopeless to be a writer these days. Only the luckiest high-profile authors support themselves through writing novels alone; most have other day jobs, whether as columnists or consultants or insurance salespeople or—commonly—creative writing teachers, teaching others to do what they do not make a living at themselves.

But why should it be a dream to get paid to do what you love?

I’m moving to San Francisco in a few weeks. I’ll be lugging several boxes of traditionally published, bookstore-bought books (almost no books I own are actually from Amazon) with me, but I’ll also be bringing my Fire. I’m excited to bask in the beatnik glow of City Lights, listen for echoes of Ginsberg, and spend late nights browsing Green Apple Books. I’m also excited to circle 1 Infinite Loop, see visions of black turtlenecks, and meet some of the incredibly brilliant people (who are not just at Apple, to be clear) working nonstop to make sure that technology makes us smarter and makes our lives better. Maybe I’ll even join them in that crusade.

If their work—our work—results in more bookstores, great. If it means fewer bookstores, okay. As long as it doesn’t mean a diminished exchange of ideas, information, and even artistic ecstasy. And you can buy as many books as you want from your local bookstore. Just don’t be surprised when that small investment in a broken system doesn’t turn out to be as effective as Amazon’s huge investment in a new one.

The skit even confronted the first commenter with one of his “comment victims,” a grandmother whose hat fell off during a birthday celebration. The comment–”Dumb ass old lady! Haha, her hat fell off. Kill yourself.”–motivated the grandmother to simply pronounce the commenter “rotten”–an accurate assessment.

The skit effectively pointed out the mean-spirited absurdity of much online commentary, but didn’t go much beyond that. Given the general portrayal of the commenters as stereotypical “losers,” nerdy and overweight, and lacking a girlfriend (in the case of the second commenter), the implication is that people without “real” or offline lives attempt to make themselves relevant by persistently posting negative and/or irrelevant comments online. But given the incredibly widespread nature of inane online commentary, it seems likely that a larger group of people is responsible.

The fact that online commentary is being recognized as largely irrelevant on a mainstream show such as SNL suggests that its uselessness is widely acknowledged. Still, the question remains, what can be done about this? Is mocking irrelevant commentary–already a widespread practice in comments themselves–a potential solution? Or does it just perpetuate a focus on thoughtless commentary (and am I doing just that right now)? I would propose that no problem can be resolved without being identified, and I do think that insipid commentary is a problem–it wastes time and doesn’t lend to the conversation. But it may be doing more than that, by inuring people to thoughtless exchanges and, perhaps worse, offensive language.

An AP-MTV poll found that although 51% of teens encounter discriminatory language on social networking sites (which are largely just strings of status updates and/or comments), many of them dismiss such language as people simply trying to be funny. Two-thirds of teen respondents said discriminatory words used against black people were mostly jokes, while 75% said negative language used against women was intended to be amusing, and the majority of teens are not offended when something is called “gay” in a negative manner.

In the SNL skit, one of the guests was portrayed as having commented “mad gay yo” on a video of a horse rescuing its owner from a dangerous situation. When asked what was “gay” about the video, the commenter responded, “the horse.” Even putting aside the question of what words are offensive, this use of language clearly demeans language itself, in that it removes significant meaning and creates a very limited vocabulary of words used only to mock or bring down, not to contribute to the conversation.

In a world where we have TV shows mocking online comment mocking anyone–where does the meaning lie? Perhaps in examining each situation to see what, if anything, we can learn from it. And if there’s no meaning, in recognizing that, and in working to create more meaning in our next comment, skit, blog post, or conversation.

This isn’t to say that to retweet, like, or +1 something is bad, just that it’s not enough. Do you hesitate to “like” something posted by Facebook friends (or Google+ folks) you’re not actually close to? Does a “like” become a substitute for not having talked to a good friend for a while? When we are using our feedback buttons to navigate relationships rather than ideas, we should explore our motivation. So next time you feel compelled to click “like,” think about whether you actually have something to say. If so, say it. If not, maybe take a moment and think of something smart–not to show off, but if because you truly “like” something, you should probably like it enough to provide a thoughtful response.

Somewhat relatedly, I recently encountered an article that claims only about 30% of online users are interested in location-based mobile checkins like those offered by Foursquare, Gowalla, and similar services. However, more than 50% are interested in using their phones to get to stores, use coupons, and look up product information. If we view checkins as (weak) comments–essentially, indications that people “like” a place because they are there–the somewhat more tepid interest in checking in vs. saving money may suggest that more users are primarily interested in mobile phones for their functional rather than commentary purposes.

At the same time, we’ve commonly seen venues resort to promoting Foursquare checkins with special deals for mayors or even just any old schmuck who checks in. This essentially rewards people for their visible–to friends/acquaintances as potential customers–positive “commentary” on a venue as a worthwhile place to be. But when that commentary is subsidized, is it still valid? And is relationship-motivated commentary (liking your friends’ posts just because you like them as people) any less subsidized or more valid?

Ultimately, is a deal-motivated checkin the ultimate bastardization of our consumerist society, creating a world where we only do things because we’re rewarded? I hope we haven’t fallen that far–but sometimes I’m not sure.

The contrast between the two figures’ progression made for a clear demonstration of the body as commentary. In each case, the individuals being filmed are traveling toward a particular destination. By enacting that travel in different forms, however, each individual makes a statement–comments on–the purpose of his or her journey. For some devotees, it’s not enough just to travel to Bodhgaya; the journey itself must take on a special form, realized through physical action that provides a comment on the actor’s religious dedication.

It’s hard to translate the body to the online realm: after all, one of the most egalitarian features of the internet, in a way, is that it disembodies all of us. At the same time, however, this can send us in search of an embodiment for the people or ideas we meet online, envisioning how people enact their beliefs in a physical realm. And at another extreme, many people make their physical selves highly visible online, providing extensive photo albums of their activities or fashions, offering additional information about what matters to the individual in question.

Our selves, then, comment on our priorities to some extent: the fashionista’s polished presentation, the runner’s lean arms, the bodybuilder’s impossibly thick thighs. And then, the rest of us, perhaps letting the body make another comment: that we are concerned, primarily, with something other than how we appear, but leaving that “something” undefined.

The first was Simon Dumenco’s Twitter lament, in which he decries the allegedly Twitter-inspired tendency to post, tweet, retweet, and generally (virally?) spread information without understanding it. In doing some tweeting for my new job, I can say that I’ve run across more than a few instances of folks tweeting and even retweeting an article without apparently reading beyond the title, dismissing the substance in favor of some style. There are “scientifically proven” magic phrases that elicit retweets, and I wouldn’t be surprised if a surprising amount of folks retweet based on headlines only without reviewing the actual linked content.

Is that bad, though? Dumenco seems to think so, theorizing that over-production of content means “we’re all living in some Bizarro universe where we’re constantly debating stuff that’s not actually up for debate” and that’s “all rewiring our brains in really weird, unexpected and often unfortunate ways.” It’s true that there’s so much more content than ever before–but there are also more people than ever before, and more ways for them to connect. So shouldn’t this make us smarter, not stupider? All of this community and commentary should give rise to a form of collective intelligence that wouldn’t be possible without online interaction. I don’t think mindless retweeting is a good thing, but it’s not 100% bad–and it doesn’t mean Twitter can’t be a tool for thought-provoking conversation.

Of course, it’s easier and more hilarious to just say that Simon Dumenco hates kittens, so maybe I’ll do that anyway.

The other topic I wanted to address briefly is (Twitter-based) geographic location services. It’s interesting that in a delocalized/globalized economy and world, some of our most immediate technological tools are being tweaked to tell others the most mundane information of all: where we are physically. What’s the implication of using broad technology for such specific, local purposes? Will technology, which once led commercialized agriculture and other large-scale efforts, suddenly be at the forefront of a charge to eat/breathe/think/do locally? I’m interested to see the outcome of using these technological tools on a local scale.

That’s all for now, folks, but I hope to be back a little sooner than last time!

The first and most important conclusion that I want to stress is that online commentary both is and affects publishing. It is publishing in the sense that it “makes public” information that would otherwise remain private. In doing so, commentary (ideally) affects more than the commenter and the person being responded to. The unique nature of commentary on the internet allows it to be read by an unlimited number of people with varying levels of connection to the topic at hand. An astute comment can educate and inspire others; a negative or uninformed comment can motivate others to help educate. Admittedly, online commentary doesn’t give rise to enlightenment: but it can, and should. Publishers should review comments and tweets not only to see how people are responding to their books, but also what people are talking about. What people say gives a great deal of insight into what they’re interested in–and what people are interested in is what books should be published on.

The second lesson is that commentary connects. I started the blog lamenting that publishing CEOs don’t think about connecting with the right people, quoting Richard Nash: “The CEOs [of publishing companies] seem to think they’re not in the media business at all, but in a B2B business, where meeting with B&N and Amazon and a few independent booksellers constitutes doing business.” Online commentary has turned publishing–and other businesses–into a B2P (business-to-person) setup, or even P2P (peer-to-peer), or A2P (author-to-person/peer) setup. Plenty of authors are blogging or tweeting and creating relationships with their readers well outside the traditional publishing realm. Publishing companies cannot control that, nor should they try to: they must tap into it. As the Ithaka report on university publishing and other sources point out, reader commentary can even be incorporated into books, upending Andrew Keen’s pompous denigration of the idea that readers’ ideas should have any effect on important works. To the contrary, publications as important as the Economist allow reader commentary. Additionally, I created some connections through this blog: people whose blogs I directly addressed and linked to immediately came to my blog and responded to me. That’s direct, instant evidence that commentary connects.

Another point is that comments are both useless and not useless if not used. This seems contradictory (and, technically, is), but commentary is an important part of the process of figuring out what you think. By encouraging more commentary, we can encourage people to think more (and perhaps even differently, averting Cass Sunstein’s fear of self-perpetuating beliefs). In the process of creating commentary, people will not only learn, but may also (even if accidentally) teach others. This should be the ultimate goal of commentary: to be used by commenters and comment readers alike, for a learning experience, and the launching point for further conversation. Commenters who have a different, more self-serving motivation are not participating in true commentary with the potential to change the world–and change minds.

A common theme in discussing comments is that they are comments are sometimes just stupid and mean. It’s true. And because of that, the art of analyzing commentary includes determining what to weed out. Not everything that’s said is important or interesting–but much of it is. As I have suggested, the Twitterfication of commentary–knowing exactly who “follows” you and checks out what you have to say, and seeing what (if anything) they have to say about it–might be crucial in ensuring more informed commentary. As long as you can anonymously blather bullshit, you have no accountability. But when people know who you are, what you’re saying and so on–then you’re screwed when you screw up. As Clay Shirky asserts, “the internet… adds group forming as a possibility, not just person-to-person connections.” When everyone can see what you say, you become more accountable. And as accountability increases, the quality of commentary will as well.

Blogging itself is not a necessarily a revolution. In fact, it’s even a bit self-centered. But the exchange of ideas that blogging, Twitter, and other online communication enables is revolutionary. Hopefully contrary to Cass Sunstein’s fear that this exchange will result in further polarization of existing beliefs, perhaps we can go toward Clay Shirky’s hope that everyone’s collective participation will overthrow existing authority and develop its own direction?

As powerful as commentary is, there are many questions that remain unanswered. First, who is liable for commentary–the commenter or the platform allowing it? Thus far the focus has been on the commenter, but websites may step toward censorship if they fear that users might get them in trouble. This bordered on happening with a Flickr user whose questions got his account deleted from the Flickr system. As publishers’ fear about losing royalties to unauthorized use of copyrighted material grow and grow, they may become more and more concerned with ownership of commentary. This is the wrong response. Commentary isn’t “owned,” it’s shared, by definition. So what’s the best way to use it? As much as possible is the initial answer.

Importantly, linking people may not be the only purpose of commentary. If the inventor of the internet has his way, we may be linking data with commentary as well. Evaluative actions like tags and reviews are in a sense meta-comments: evaluative data that can be used to inform others about an item’s worth. When better ways are found to use this data-about-data, online commentary will be solidified as the basis of a lot of what we “know” and can find out online. Data about commentary will become more and more useful over time, not only for thoughtful academic pursuits but also–and perhaps more predominantly–for marketing pursuits. Once a marketer figures out that you fit a certain user profile, they’ll be spamming you with replies and direct messages all day long. But like Shirky hopes, “the communal can be at least as durable as the commercial.” When marketers are in your face, you can get right back in their face, calling companies out on their shortcomings. And everyone will be able to see.

The final word? Commentary can’t just continue to exist as itself. It needs to be connected into a resource that enables more than just its own ideas. It must enable connection, education, and the ability to access relevant information–in the form of original content or commentary–about something. Commentary is no longer at the margins: it’s crucial to everything we do. It’s a remix of what’s come before. In that sense, it tells us both where we are and where we came from: an important duality. What you say about what others say may not yet tell us who you are (though it can model your Twitter personality), but eventually it will tell us a lot–if not all–about you.

I want to close by making what may be simultaneously an obvious and a revolutionary statement: commentary is the future of (social, if I want to qualify it) search, and potentially even publishing. Commentary is the future of finding everything we need online, and responding to what is already online. Algorithms can only go so far without the human input that comes in the form of commentary: data showing what people think about other data. Without this data, the original data is less useful. Whoever or whatever can figure out how to best take advantage of all the commentary out there about everything else will be at the forefront of the future of the internet, the semantic web, social search, whatever you want to call it. Now that everyone’s found their voice, it’s time to start listening.

In his influential book Here Comes Everybody, Clay Shirky uses Flickr as an example of hands-off collaboration, made possible by tagging. He describes how easy it is to find images of a particular item or event on Flickr, in contrast to how hard it would be to specifically contract people to take such pictures. By removing the need for organization and simply giving users tools to organize themselves, Flickr made it possible for people to access images in new ways. Most of Flickr’s functionality is based on tagging: from the original photographer, not necessarily other users. If anyone could tag, would the tagging lose its functionality, or become even more interesting?

A tag, then, is a comment. It adds value. It makes a judgment about something. It expresses an opinion. In that sense, a review is also a tag or a comment. Lawrence Lessig, writing in Remix, agrees that “Tagging thus added a layer of meaning to RW [read/write] content. The more tags, the more useful and significant they become… As they add meaning to content, these tools also enable collaboration… As the reader “writes” with tags or votes, the importance of the original writing changes.” Stars in a review “tag” an item as good or bad; the text of the review offers further commentary. Even “likes” on Facebook have taken over comments. Instead of writing on a friend’s wall or writing something about a friend’s status update, you can just click a button to show that you “like” what your friend has said or done.

Is everything a comment these days? Maybe. Commentary is breaking down into a variety of forms. This is not necessarily bad, just different. We have more ways than ever to respond to something. What’s important is responding at all.

It’s somewhat scarily accurate. The report for my personal Twitter account nails my personality as “likeable, inquisitive, cautious,” and calls my style “chatty” and “coherent” (wonder what it takes to be labeled incoherent!). I’m called a WRITER, which may be because I am one, or because I say I’m one in my personality. Either way, it’s relatively on par with reality (or so I’d like to think).

What does the service have to say about the Twitter account for Bostonist, the website about Boston that I help run? Bostonist’s personality is “renowned, sociable, vain” and our style is “chatty, academic.” (Is it chatty because I write so many of the posts?) We are identified as a ROBOT. The Bostonist Twitter account is primarily just a feed of our blog posts, so that makes sense. I am interested in our “renowned, sociable, vain” personality though. Are we renowned because we have so many followers (only about 1500, but more than many Twitter accounts)? Because we get retweeted a decent amount? Or is the retweeting what makes us sociable? Finally, “Vain” is perhaps the most interesting comment… does it stem from US not retweeting other content often (we don’t)? From our “royal we” writing style (which doesn’t usually come through in the tweeted content, I don’t think)? I’m not sure. Regardless, an interesting outcome.

Finally… what does the Twanalyst have to say about the Twitter feed of THIS blog? Well, it’s a little disappointing. My “talking” personality is “ordinary, sociable, cautious”–basically a blend of Bostonist and my personal account, but with “ordinary” thrown in. Ordinary is never a word you want applied to you! My style is “quiet, academic,” which makes sense. I am identified as a ROBOT which is true because the Twitter account is just a feed of the blog.

So it seems that automated personality analysis can have something to say about what we say on Twitter, and at least some of it is reasonably accurate. But what can it really be used for, other than telling us some things we probably already knew? Could it be used to connect people with similar personalities? Is that even a good idea, since “opposites attract” and all? Twanalyst in particular seems to be in beginning stages, but I think that “metatweets” containing information about what your tweets mean and what demographic your tweets peg you as will become valuable, particularly for advertisers. So, careful what you tweet… they’ll know what brands you’re looking for!

To me, commentary at its best should be about remix: creating your own spin on an issue. It shouldn’t merely be evaluative, agreeing with or critiquing the original content, though that’s certainly valid. It shouldn’t just add new information, although that can be helpful. What it should do is take the conversation a step further, “remixing” the original idea with new ideas, and in so doing creating a new perspective that owes a debt to what it was remixed from.

Who gets paid for a remix–the remixer, or the originators of the remixed content, or both? It’s a fine line to walk. Take these music video that quite literally “remix” parts of faces to create fascinating new content. Does everyone who appears in the video deserve to get paid for it? Should they be paid each time the video’s played? What’s the ideal economic structure for collage of this nature?

Maybe there is none. Maybe the point should be to play, to remix, to create: to comment. The role of the “publishing” industry in the future, perhaps, will not be to copyright that content but to supply the channels that make it possible. It’s getting harder and harder to copyright content. The mode in which it’s created may not necessarily be copyrightable but it can, perhaps, be owned.

In Remix: Making Art and Commerce Thrive in the Hybrid Economy, Lawrence Lessig writes of “the freedom to quote.” When does quoting become “using”? Isn’t a quote a form of usage? So why, he asks, is excerpting a paragraph from a written work in making an argument about (also a “comment on”) that work less okay than using part of a music track to make a new one?

Remix is commentary. Commentary is creativity. It shouldn’t be falsely limited or discouraged.

A retweet is just that: a re-posting of another user’s tweet. It’s usually prefaced with RT (for retweet) and includes the @handle of the original commenter (Twitter user). If space allows, someone may insert their own commentary in a retweet, but 140 characters can be a bit tight for that. Still, the retweet is the ultimate comment: a comment on someone else’s comment. A meta-comment, if you will. But it packs a lot of information into 140 characters, including links to the original comment, the name of the original commenter and the retweeter, not to mention what’s actually being said.

This retweet phenomenon has become an amazing way of sharing relevant information quickly. Not everyone can follow everyone on Twitter–there are too many millions of folks to keep track of–but there seems to be almost a “six degrees of separation” phenomenon wherein any popular tweet can get to you pretty easily and remarkably fast. Thus the retweet as comment is almost less a “comment” than a platform for spreading information. It’s not just about the initial idea, it’s about the ease with which it spreads.

There are a number of ways to look at retweeted material. One is to check out the most retweeted people on Twitter. Are these people experts in their field? Do they have the most followers? Are they tweeting on popular topics? What is it about their commentary that makes it spread?

MrZand, a math teacher from Washington DC with a mere 500 followers, is currently on the top 10 retweeted folks according to Retweetrank. Why is this? He tweets often, and many of his tweets are about the topical Iran elections, and the unfortunate killing of a woman named Neda in them. Perhaps it’s being topical that makes you retweeted?

Maybe not. ZnaTrainer posts mostly inane quotations about love and smiling. Arguably topical at all times, but being perpetually topical is almost like not being topical at all. Yet she’s in the Retweet Top 10. Deservedly?

One attribute that almost everyone in the RTT10 has in common: they retweet others’ tweets a lot. Gotta play the game to win the game, right? Perhaps the takeaway message is, the more active you are on Twitter and the broader the audience to which your tweets have relevance, the more you can be retweeted.