FOR RESURRECTION SUNDAY: I'VE SAID IT BEFORE, AND I'LL SAY IT AGAIN

This was originally published in March, 2007 during one of my periodic snits at the mismanagement of what started as a "site for writers".    It might easily have been written today.  "The more things change...."

Of necessity, writing is a lonely profession, unless you’re collaborating with someone else, in which case it’s both lonely and irritating. Since I opt to work alone, I avoid that particular hazard, but I often have a desire to “talk shop” with others who do this odd thing for a living. Pre-computer, I accomplished this by joining writer's groups, workshops and retreats, as well as keeping in close contact with the agents, publishers and editors who contributed to my livelihood.

Then along came the WWW and my formerly insular universe was suddenly overrun with self-styled writers who wallowed in their newfound ability to see their words (misspelled and banal though they might be) flying through cyberspace, for all the world to see and discuss. I wasted a lot of time early on, seeking message boards, groups and sites with whom I felt a commonality of skill and purpose. Next, the word “blog” entered my consciousness and I jumped on the concept with a vengeance. I added my work to several blogsites, developed a presence and a following and was moderately satisfied until I realized I had lost the adjective in my job title. I was still a writer, but since nobody was paying me for my work, I could no longer call myself “professional”.

I wrestled with this conundrum until one day, in mid-headlock, along came Gather. I was apprised that this was a site for professional writers who would receive compensation for their contributions. Such compensation, I was led to believe, was dependent upon both the quality of work and its reception by the intelligent, discerning membership who would read, rate and comment on it.

“Fabulous!” I told myself (writers not only work alone..they also converse with themselves). “I will become part of this creative community. I will write. I will read. I will enjoy the company of my colleagues. I will surround myself with clever, articulate people to stimulate and be stimulated in return. I will be their Parker; they will be my Benchley; together we will frolic amid our witty badinage, trading quips as we share our divergent views of the world. This Gather must, indeed, be a writer’s paradise!”

And it was, until I became aware of the facts. First, I discovered that the promised “compensation” actually had nothing to do with quality. Rather, it was based on some secret, impenetrable formula that dealt entirely in quantity, or the accrual of “gatherpoints”. As soon as this became apparent to the world at large, Gather morphed from “a site for writers” to a site for the greedy, the venal, the untalented, the unoriginal and the uncreative.

What had been a goldmine of intelligent discourse, clever repartee, and excellent prose became, almost overnight, a garbage dump for the no-talent, simple-minded, semi-literate, shameless carrion-eaters who now flock to the site for the sole purpose of robbery by fraud. They fill the pages with misspelled, ungrammatical non-content, gleefully flaunting their success in amassing money and points from a complacent management. Gather has become a giant piñata and all the kids in the “special” class are beating it to shreds, grabbing all the goodies they can before it collapses around all our heads.

In view of this state of affairs, a handful of us took a few days off to observe what, if any, difference the absence of actual writing would make. For an answer I looked at the  “most discussed” list during the boycott period. Would you be surprised to learn that it had NOT ONE SINGLE ARTICLE that contained anything remotely resembling “creative writing”?

No, I was not surprised, either. After all, I know where most of the real writers went. The question is:  will I let the slack-jawed weasels chase me off for good? My answer: not just yet. There are still a few laughs to be had, a few people of wit and intellect to whom I can relate and, mostly, a few more “payments” outstanding. Until I feel too suffocated by the stench of offal, I’ll stay and play. It's up to you how long my tenure will be.