The Modern Writer as Performance Artist - 1. Chapter 1

There’s no lack of people to read those stories now, or places for authors to share them. Just ask Google—it knows all. (Except who said “The Internet is a mixed bag of enlightenment and oppression.”)

Right. So the industry gurus claim the Internet has ushered in a new era of whimsical genres and that cyberspace will never be a place for serious fiction—whatever that means. Although I suspect it implies many of the communities once considered “niche” and “small” and, by association, “insignificant”, have gained enough ground and popularity to make those entrenched in the status quo squirm over their three-martini lunches. Which... good. It’s about time. But I personally don’t believe that what we’re writing has changed, only how we share it. The Internet hasn’t created new fascinations, only exposed them. (I totally typed that last sentence with a straight face.)

It’s in the review and critique process that everything has changed. Today we can write a poem, an essay, a story, or a chapter of a novel, post it, wait for a very short time—sometimes minutes—and get a response. Instant feedback. Instant gratification.

This is the phenomenon that is changing how we write—and think about writing. We are, more than ever before, performance artists. We are creating something less solitary than traditional fiction. The Internet hasn’t just shrunk the distance between writer and reader; it’s annihilated it. And lack of distance is what defines performance art: the artist and audience enmeshed in something complex and multilayered. Here’s an example from performance artist Helge Meyer I thought strongly analogous to online writing in this day and age:

“I invited the audience to exchange cloth with me, piece by piece. I brought cloth with me that had a deep personal relationship to my life, and I told each story of that piece, one after another, to the audience. In exchange for one of my belongings, they offered me a piece of their cloth and the story of their relationship with that piece.”

Lots of us write serials and update in regular time intervals, giving readers the opportunity to discuss the story with us as it’s being forged. This leads to a fair bit of interactive creating—changes to the original plan based on feedback. Not always. Some of us never deviate from our outlines and ideas. No one way is best, it’s all about creating. Some stories live close to our hearts, others we’re more willing to bend and twist. Regardless, the reader is always there, at times quite verbal and opinionated, a part of the process.

It’s a social revolution, not a technological one. (Okay, maybe it is a little, but ignore that for a moment. I’m trying to make a point.) Neither it is a moral revolution, because let’s face it, morals have stayed mostly static. Rather it’s a revolution in means, a way to carry shared life experiences the next step up the ladder, into fiction. For entertainment, for guidance, for advice, and for emotional connections that in the past were rare or nonexistent.

The word “writer” has never implied so much before. Nor have we ever inferred so much from the idea. To say the Internet has changed publishing only scratches the tip of the iceberg. Storytelling itself has evolved. Hate it or celebrate it, there’s no going back.