Happy hybrids: Vital lessons from the pandemic

BY CHRISTINA MYERS

Maybe next time. Thank you for thinking of me, but no. I wish I could, but it’s not possible. Next year, perhaps. What time does it start? Let me see what I can juggle. Maybe I’ll be able to swing it? For much of my writing career, these were my answers to invitations to read at events, take part in workshops, or join my fellow writers at various conferences and festivals.

Many events took place in the evening when my children had to get to Scout meetings or music lessons. Even when there was nothing scheduled on the home calendar, it was hard to commit in advance—my partner’s job was demanding with long, uncertain hours, and I couldn’t count on finding alternate childcare.

Financial constraints were another challenge; conference registration, festival passes, and travel to and from these events all had to be considered. The cost to take part in something was often an extra line in my budget that just wasn’t feasible no matter how much I wanted to get out and be involved. If I took part in one event, I’d likely have to decline the next.

And my challenges were minor compared to obstacles faced by many in our community when it came to events. Is the location accessible for people in wheelchairs or with mobility challenges? Will there be someone on hand to do sign language translation? Is the location on or near transit routes? Are there subsidies available for those who may be unable to afford this? In some cases, event organizers would successfully navigate and mitigate these issues, but usually accessibility wasn’t even on the radar unless someone brought it up. Even then, the response was often, “Sorry, our hands are tied.”

And then COVID-19 happened. I certainly won’t argue that the last two years have been effortless; indeed, it’s been an overwhelming and exhausting time for most of us. But there have been positives born out of the challenges. When the world shut down, we learned very quickly that providing events on virtual platforms was not just possible, but pleasurable. From literary festivals to book launches, events went online—often to great success. Barriers to access were functionally removed; people could attend an event from their phone or laptop, no babysitter required, with no worry about wheelchair access, transit schedules, or travel costs.

Like many writers who published new books during this period, I would’ve loved the traditional launch events. I had dreamed of heading out on the road to visit small bookshops, hold readings in different towns, and celebrate with friends and family. This was, of course, impossible. Was I disappointed? At first, I absolutely was. But I quickly discovered that this unexpected pivot made my events all the more memorable—friends from around the globe were able to take part, audiences could engage with each other in the chat, I met people I’d never have crossed paths with otherwise, and I was invited to festivals in places that I would’ve normally had to decline. As an extrovert, I did miss having face-to-face interaction with readers and hearing an audience cheer or clap, but the trade-off was more than worth it. It was particularly gratifying to see people pop up in an audience when I knew they would’ve had multiple barriers to attend if it weren’t a virtual event.

Recently, there’s been an uptick in announcements for a return to in-person events. Festivals that are slated for next fall are already sharing lineups and selling tickets. Book launches are starting to take place in various venues. Readings and workshops are coming back to bookstores and local libraries.

I’ve already committed to taking part in a festival next autumn and I have a few workshops coming up that will be done in person (fingers crossed that all will be well to do so). The camaraderie and connection that happens when people come together is a vital part of all communities, and this is certainly so in the literary world. It’s understandable that many people feel an urgency to get “back to business” and return to the pre-pandemic state of affairs. Though I’m hesitant and cautious, I am looking forward to the time when I feel ready to head out to these events

As we plan for the future, I hope we take this opportunity to re-build and return better—and to keep hold of the lessons we’ve learned and the value we’ve discovered in virtual events. I hope that we focus on ways to incorporate the best of both worlds into our literary events and develop options that will allow for both in-person and online participation. Now that we’ve experienced improved accessibility—whether physical, financial, or through the elements of time or venue capacity— we can’t go backward. I hope that we will embrace hybrid events often and wherever possible.

There will be a learning curve, and it will not always be simple. In some cases, a hybrid event could be as straightforward as setting up a video to run simultaneously by Zoom during a small reading in a bookstore. In others, it may be much more complex—many festivals run complicated lineups of readings, workshops, panels, and more, with audience participation that ranges from simply listening to back-and-forth dialogue and learning. Making sure an online audience can participate in authentic ways is valuable and necessary.

Many events and activities in the writing community happen through volunteer support or are self-funded by writers themselves; organizing can already feel like a huge task. Trying to juggle a return to in-person events with online components may feel overwhelming or untenable, and organizers may opt for one or the other but not both. As the organizer of a small volunteer-run reading series myself, I understand this feeling. But I know in my heart, it’s worth it.

I encourage all organizers, publishers, writers, and readers to grow from what we’ve learned in the past two years. We can and should commit to preserving and expanding equity and access, to creating a new normal that is fun, open, engaging, and welcoming. When we make things better for those with the highest barriers, we make things better for everyone.

Christina Myers is a writer, editor and former journalist. Her novel The List of Last Chances (2021) was longlisted for the 2022 Leacock Medal. She is currently at work on her next novel and an essay collection.