To Zoom or not to Zoom?

As a practising storyteller, I’ve had to grapple with the question of whether or not to take my practice online now that live performances are out of the question thanks to the current COVID-19 restrictions.

Many of my colleagues have been quick to jump aboard the online ship in the form of Zoom, using its video technology to present their stories to the public. I’ve watched a number of them and have concluded that it’s a decision that merits careful consideration.

Initially, I thought, “This is great, it’s just like being on TV!” Except that it’s not. Unlike television, Zoom is more static. The camera is relatively fixed letting you see in most instances the top half or head and neck of the person. The audience is restricted to unnatural vocals mediated through digital equipment and an Internet connection that is not always stable, thus distorting the voice even further as well as the visuals.

The limited view also restricts the movements and gestures a storyteller naturally employs. Even if they do use them, they are not necessarily visible to the viewer. Still, I hear you say, better than nothing. Is it?

For me — and all the storytellers I know — storytelling is very much an “eye to eye, mind to mind, heart to heart” form of communication and connection. While there can be a semblance of this in an online performance, there is no denying what we all miss — the physical presence within a sacred space where both listener and teller witness and experience the emergence of a story. I don’t think I’m being too precious when I say that. For me, storytelling is a sacred art.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying that anyone who takes their storytelling online is committing a sacrilegious act. Far from it. It’s just that for me, it’s necessary to acknowledge the difference. For me, storytelling online is a different kettle of fish altogether. And for me, it’s not something that inspires or attracts me.

That’s why I’ve decided not to take my storytelling practice online. At least, not entirely. I tried it and I’ve watched others and, frankly, I found it very unsatisfying. Without feeling the teller’s or the audience’s physical presence, I found myself easily distracted and fatigued. I hear people talking about “Zoom-fatigue” and I’ve certainly found it to be true, restricting the amount of Zooming I can do as a result.

That said, I have used Zoom occasionally to tell a few bedtime stories to my grandchildren who live far away. But even that felt strange when they both disappeared from camera view and I had to keep checking with their Dad whether or not they were still listening or had fallen asleep. Of course, when they fell asleep I felt as if I’d done my job. But if they see me on the screen as simply another talking head on television, I feel that I am not providing them with a healthy experience of storytelling. To Zoom or not to Zoom? That is the question. Is it better to see and hear Grandpa than not at all?

I’m also using Zoom to offer a series of story workshops to graduate students at a University in the UK. In this case, I’m not so much telling stories as I’m delivering a series of talks and slide shows touting the benefits of story and storytelling in design innovation, particularly as it applies to health care. Again, I’d much rather be in the same room as my students but given that we are 3000 miles apart, I’m grateful to have the opportunity to teach at all.

To repeat, I am not belittling the benefits of Zoom or any other video conferencing technology. I use it to keep in touch with my sons and close friends who live abroad; I hold occasional meetings online with members of my storytelling guild and my creative writing group; I meet members of a men’s choir with whom I used to sing, and I join a weekly ukulele group on Zoom where we sing and laugh. But I don’t use it to tell stories . . . at least not now. Perhaps, if this pandemic goes on for an extended period and we storytellers are not permitted to meet in the same space as our listeners, I may change my mind. But for now, I’m choosing to grieve the loss of the live face-to-face performance. To miss my audience and to be missed by them. That seems “real” to me.

What is your experience of using Zoom or not using it? I’d be interested to hear your views.