Over cafeteria food we reminisced about computer gurus, primitive graphics, and the old days of e-mail serials. It was time well-spent, a validation of our pasts and the things that had been important to us. I discovered his interests include avant-garde gothic rock; he was amused to learn I was an assistant editor for a network-based fiction magazine. "Don't you ever grow up?" he asked between sips of coffee. "Electronic fiction is dead, if it ever lived in the first place."
Mildly offended, I pressed him on the issue. It's not dead, I explained. It's doing better now than ever before. "That's not the point," he said. "Electronic fiction will probably continue to grow for some time. But it's crippled by its medium. Computing is based on information, and information is measured by volume, not by content. You only offer content. You'll eventually run out of stories, then writers, then readers." He sat back and crushed the paper cup. "It's just a matter of time."
I laughed in his face. We'll see who's right in the end, bucko. We spent a few minutes exchanging e-mail addresses and then parted amicably. I went back to my office and my usual routine; he went back to Brooklyn and a high-rise office tower. And that was the end of it.
Except what he'd said kept bothering me. Is electronic fiction doomed from the start? Is its very media -- information technology -- going to be its demise?
It's obvious that electronic fiction wouldn't exist without information technology. What's not so obvious is that information technology supports the amount of information available without regard to the meaning of that information. Technology lets us store, organize, and retrieve more material than ever before. But what is it that we're storing, organizing, and retrieving?
"Signal-to-noise ratio" is a term used to describe exactly this dynamic. In a nutshell, "signal" is the content you want to receive and "noise" is any other information that comes along with it. The term actually predates computers: on a telephone system, noise was literally "noise" -- hissing and crackling. But the idea still applies: the lower the ratio of signal to noise becomes, the less worthwhile it is for you to pay attention to the information as a whole. It hurts your ears.
The signal-to-noise ratio of information technology today (and of large computer networks in particular) is generally low. This has a lot to do with the diversity of information available -- not everyone is interested in a constant feed of Star Trek trivia. But it also has to do with the way in which people use information technology. From the point of view of any particular person, most users don't generate much signal, but they do generate a fair bit of noise. Most electronic information is addressed to a narrow audience or is related to the use of the media itself. Very little of the available material is intended for a wide audience.
I realized that this is what my friend was trying to tell me about electronic fiction. The people producing the signal are vastly outweighed by all the people producing the noise. My friend doesn't believe that projects such as Quanta and InterText can be heard for long above the din of the mob. And even if these projects survive, how many people will try to distinguish them from the tumult? It's easier to ignore it all.
Well, maybe my friend is right. There is evidence. To my knowledge, none of the network magazines have much of a catalog on hand, perhaps with the exception of DargonZine. I've seen most network-magazines print outright pleas for submissions. Maybe there's already a lack of signal in electronic fiction.
And perhaps I shouldn't say this, but editorial support is also a problem. At most, a small group of people produces each publication; the departure of one person can seriously affect a magazine. Athene shut down because of the time commitment involved. Furthermore, network access is not guaranteed. A graduation or a career change can stop a publication overnight. So coupled with a weak signal, we may have a weak transmitter. Maybe we are a match in the dark, merely putting off the inevitable.
But looking back, I still think my friend doesn't quite know what he's talking about. Electronic fiction has come a long way since its indeterminate inception. Beginning with Orny Liscomb's FSFnet, we've seen a very long-running shared universe in DargonZine, the on-line magazine The Runic Robot, the irrepressible "PULP", and a new set of far-reaching magazines -- Athene, CORE. I used to be able to count the editorship of electronic fiction on one hand; now I scarcely know where to start.
Cooperation between publications is astounding. InterText's page of ads is one example; a more significant one is the comprehensive access site recently created at the Electronic Frontier Foundation. Looking through that site, I am impressed by what a few hyperactive, impulsive editor-types have managed to coax out of the on-line community. I'm a little bit proud to be part of it.
All this may add up to a little more noise, but it also creates a much stronger signal. "Real" publications (and with them "real" authors) are taking notice. Subscriptions aren't flagging. There has to be fuel for the fire, and for now things are getting brighter.
The funny part is that my friend sent me some e-mail the other day. "That magazine thing you mentioned," he wrote. "Sign me up. And it'd better be good, or I'll give you a swift kick in the disk packs." Maybe my friend shouldn't try to be an electronic comedian, but he only verified what I knew all along: content is what counts. Or none of us would be involved.