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It's a shame because, oddly enough, the old discussions were much more skillfully written, impassioned and enlightening than most of the stories. At times, the eloquence and high rhetoric of even the most futile debates were worthy of Britain's House of Lords. But then, as E.M. Forster once wrote, "Creative writers are always greater than the causes that they represent."

Sometimes, even during the workshop's most rambunctious growing period, someone would actually post a thread about writing. I once started a discussion on pseudonyms. There was one writer who would log on under the pen name Harum Scarum. Why? I demanded. Real name Helter Skelter? Charles Manson? Squeaky Fromme?

A day or so later I logged back on to find about 131 messages. Apparently there were more pseudonym users than I'd realized. Most said it was a question of privacy or persona. But there was also speculation that some authors used multiple pen names to favorably critique their own stories and make it into the Zoetrope site's monthly Top 3 -- the site equivalent of the Pulitzer. (And I thought weirdos hung out at the library!?) Here was yet another manifestation of the frenzy caused by the sudden, fulfilling sense of a potential audience, and the perceived notoriety and validation afforded by the Web. The Top 3 titles appeared in bold at the top of the home page, which on Planet Zoetrope was like being on TV.

There was also nothing to prevent writers from gainfully misrepresenting themselves on their bio pages, either. One writer said that she lived in a trailer in the rural South and liked to write because, when she spoke, people made fun of her accent. How refreshingly honest, we all thought. This was later revealed to be a fabrication. The woman was a lawyer who resided in a proper house -- though she'd seemed a far more interesting writer in the fraudulent incarnation.

Strangely, the question of plagiarism rarely presented itself. I can only assume that people were far too enamored with their own ideas to steal anyone else's.

With one toe planted in this fertile ground from which serious emerging writers could seriously emerge, I got my hands on a print issue of All-Story, expecting to pore over an assortment of the best new fiction by the more talented of my online cohorts. In fact, only two of thousands upon thousands of the online workshop's submissions have been published by All-Story, and I have yet to learn of any workshopped stories that have been developed into film projects.

Much of All-Story is taken up by established writers such as Gabríel Garcia Márquez and David Mamet, who clearly didn't arrive there via the same slush pile that I was in. With cover artwork by the likes of David Bowie and Anna Sui, All-Story took a disappointingly show-biz approach. The promise of an egalitarian and open online submissions policy only seemed to generate false hopes. García Márquez and Mamet! Well heck, we already know they're brilliant. I felt somehow betrayed and decided not to subscribe after that.

All-Story publication aside, there are levels on which online writing workshops do live up to their promise. It's simply a case of accepting their nature and learning to navigate them. If you hang around the sites for long enough, it's evident that there's a whole wealth of unpublished, unheard-of writers with extraordinary talent (a reality that's cheering or depressing, depending on your perspective), and there's much to be gleaned from exchanges with them. Many writers, spurred by encouraging feedback, began to get published by small presses. Without the inspiration, camaraderie and sense of purpose provided by the workshop, some of these stories might never have been written.

The real problem with online writing forums is that precisely because they are the ultimate in literary democracy, with their multitude of cybermuses and no required skill levels, they are necessarily delinquent and dilute. On one hand, Zoetrope has attempted to tame its own monster by curbing the content of discussions. This measure was taken for propriety's sake by a webmaster burdened with arguments and embarrassed by complaints. But its effectiveness and appropriateness remain a significant point of contention.

This place is no private school. On the contrary, it's a very public place. There's no charge to enter and anyone can join and (until he or she misbehaves) post a story or discussion. This is at once its greatest innovation and the root of many of its ills. Some feel that in attempting to counter its problems by muting the voices of some of its offenders, Zoetrope has also consequently lost some of its more engaging, provocative and talented writers.

Mare Freed, a published writer who works for the MIT press, was barred from participation even after serving for 10 months as All-Story Extra's editorial coordinator. John Kenney, a Tokyo-based English teacher and ASE guest editor, was also shut out. "My worst fears about what would happen to Zoetrope have come true," says Kenney. "It is a sick, mean-spirited, cliquish, creepy site run by smug do-gooders and snotty, uptight mediocrities."

After a mutiny of sorts, a more egalitarian offspring workshop named Author, Author was formed. Created by Kenney, the site is succeeding, against the inexplicable wishes of a number of saboteurs, at establishing itself as a civil yet lively place to swap resources and ideas. "I wanted no inner circle, no governing body, no famous sponsors, no moderators," Kenney stipulates. "I'm hoping there will be more spontaneous projects coming from the members -- things like anthologies or collaborative works. The Internet is a new medium that hasn't been exploited by writers to its full potential. I'd like Author, Author to start pushing some of the boundaries."

Zoetrope remains as densely populated as ever, its submissions having almost doubled in the past year. I revisited the site recently after several months away. The general discussion forum is now closed, with the following sorry eulogy from webmaster Tom Edgar: "All we ever asked was that you try to remember that you are our guests, to try to keep the boards from reflecting badly on your hosts just as you might avoid urinating in the living room at a cocktail party ... I am genuinely sorry that so many of you felt it necessary to bite the proverbial hand, to take something nice that we offered you as a gift, and to piss on it." In the remaining "stories" section I found participants no longer discussing their sexual fetishes and drug habits but dutifully debating narrative structure and believable dialogue as though the teacher had just come back into the room. It was a whole lot more legitimate, but not half as much fun.
salon.com | Feb. 22, 2000

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