When Trust is Broken: From Legacy to Lessons

For a writer, finding your people isn’t just helpful — it can be a creative lifeline! The right community can be a source of inspiration, support, friendship, empowerment, and growth. But the wrong one? It can drain your creative energy and even be harmful. This is especially true now, as countless new writing websites and communities have emerged to fill the void left by a popular challenge that recently closed its doors — NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month).

What I’ve learned from my own recent experience, however, is that reviving an old, cherished community isn’t as simple as opening a new door. How do you rebuild something beloved after its foundation has been broken? My journey with NaNoWriMo, and an attempt to revive it, taught me that to find real healing, a community must own the full breadth of its past — the good and the bad — not just cling to fond memories.

A Collision of Hope and History

I began participating in the annual NaNoWriMo challenge (write 50,000 words in 30 days) in 2002, and then volunteered (officially and unofficially) for the organization beginning around 2014. In November of 2023, a scandal concerning the mismanagement of child grooming allegations rocked their website’s discussion forums. This was the final straw in a series of smaller scandals that had been gradually eroding community confidence over the years. Still, NaNoWriMo clung for dear life for over a year. A second final straw came in 2024, when the interim executive director issued an offensively controversial statement on AI that accused critics of being classist and ableist, while also claiming that marginalized communities needed AI to succeed (the archived original statement). 

The sudden loss of the community and traditions that I’d identified with for over half my life came with real grief. My heart struggled to reconcile the fond memories — like annual write-ins on the Boeing KC-97 (a vintage, decommissioned air tanker that served as our favorite event spot) — with the horrors of the scandal and other troubling truths and stories that had recently come to light. But I wasn’t going through this alone. I was on this journey with the Rogue Writers, many of them also NaNoWriMo expats. Over the last two years, we’ve built our own bespoke community, informed by the needs of our members and overflowing with unique, silly, and empowering traditions.

The Lure of Redemption

Then, recently, I was asked to join a new leadership team to help build a revival of NaNoWriMo. Several groups have been popping up, all trying to fill the NaNoWriMo-shaped void, but this project was different. It felt like the most legitimate option, largely due to some of the people involved. And their stated goals and intent aligned with what I had hoped for a project like this. So nostalgia and optimism muffled my doubts. Mostly, I truly believed this was an opportunity to revive the best parts of the old NaNoWriMo, while leaving the harmful “crud” behind. Its healing potential lured me in at a time when the world needed healing the most. I was desperate for some of that positivity! 

Because transparency was a founding value of the Rogue Writers, I knew I had to be open about my involvement with this new project — also, at the time, we thought it might be featured in an upcoming news article. So I announced it to my group as positively as I could. The reaction was immediate and, for many, full of passionate outrage. To some, given our shared history, my involvement felt like a betrayal. This was my cue to listen, answer their questions, and re-evaluate my participation. I had to ask myself: could this project truly offer healing if its very existence caused further harm to an already-hurting community that I loved?

As I became familiar with the new team, the cracks began to show. The same old problems cropped up: a resistance to transparency, despite their declared intent to embrace it; a stubborn refusal to acknowledge past harm, despite clinging to NaNoWriMo’s very name; and, most upsetting, a startling disregard for the very same community NaNoWriMo had hurt. To be clear, not every person on the team demonstrated these disturbing qualities, and I did (and still do!) genuinely like some of them. However, my community members had been right about the project as a whole.

I realized that this revival project couldn’t provide redemption and healing for NaNoWriMo. The damage that NaNoWriMo had done to its own reputation was beyond repair. So, after about three weeks, I stepped away from the project and returned my full focus to the Rogue Writers. We huddled, we discussed, and we reinforced our boundaries. The story of my brief involvement, and the powerful reaction it elicited, illuminated truths about what a healthy writing community truly needs.

Trust and Transparency

A while after joining an online writing community, you may notice that some things don’t add up. This can look like extravagant new projects are announced without adequate details on how they were funded or why they were even chosen. Or after a member asks why rules are suddenly being applied in peculiar ways in the community forums, their post is deleted and a moderator issues them a warning. A few weeks later, a different, well-loved moderator, suddenly leaves the community without explanation. Other members start to feel uneasy. They too start asking questions and, instead of receiving answers, alarmingly hostile moderation tactics increase.

Without transparent leadership, trust erodes, and members begin to assume the worst. They might start to wonder, “What are these people hiding?” This is because a community that operates within a black box — where incidents, decisions, and policies are kept secret or vague — is one where trust cannot thrive.

Smoothing the path to an unpopular rule

Let’s explore transparency some more and pretend that a writing community announces a significant change to its popular Discord critique channel: participants must now provide at least two constructive critiques before submitting their own work for feedback. Initially, some members might object — they might feel the new rule is too restrictive or laborious. The community’s leaders expected this response, so they didn’t just impose the rule — they also explained the reasoning behind it.

Their announcement may have said:

“We’ve noticed that the critique channel has become more of a ‘drop-off’ point, and it’s grown imbalanced. We want this channel to be a space where everyone feels supported and receives valuable feedback. If everyone gives before they receive, the channel will be a healthy and reciprocal space for all our writers. Please feel welcome to share how you feel about this change, and reach out with suggestions you might have.” 

By explaining the “why” and welcoming feedback, the leaders show they are not just inventing arbitrary rules. Instead, they’re making thoughtful decisions for the good of the whole community. This builds confidence in the leadership team and reinforces the group’s shared values.

When Things Go Wrong

Now let’s pretend that a new feature on a community’s platform causes a glitch that permanently deletes members’ saved work. Instead of making excuses or ignoring the issue, the leaders act fast and post a prominent community announcement, such as the following example: 

“We messed up! Our new update triggered a critical bug that deleted content belonging to some members. We’re working on a fix, but sadly we won’t be able to restore what was lost. Because of this incident, we’ve already changed our protocol to prevent it from happening again. We’ll be sending out a more detailed report on what went wrong and how we plan to make it right. We are so sorry this happened! Please know that we value you and your creative works. Thank you for your patience while we work to resolve this.” 

An effective leadership team follows through with everything outlined in a public announcement. Ideally, they’ll also find ways to go above and beyond what they promised. 

Mistakes don’t have to haunt a community forever! By identifying and owning mistakes, apologizing, outlining future steps, and following through with them, leaders can turn a crisis into a trust-building opportunity that strengthens their community. 

What does a leader do when the mistake isn’t theirs?

Imagine that a new leader joins this same writing community’s leadership team years after the glitch deleted people’s work. The group likely still has members who are upset, and some have probably left. One day, a former member approaches them, still hurt by the loss they experienced. They demand an apology.

This leader wasn’t even there. The mistake wasn’t their fault.

It’s tempting to get defensive. But here’s the thing: when a person takes on a leadership role, they inherit the full legacy of the community. Their role isn’t just to manage the present — they also become a steward of its history, the good and the bad. Ignoring the past doesn’t make it magically disappear.

So, what does the new leader say to this person? They could respond with:

“Thank you for coming to me. I’m so sorry that you were affected by our community’s data loss incident. I wasn’t part of the team at the time, but I’ve heard many stories from members who, like you, lost treasured work. I can only imagine how devastating that must have been.”

This response acknowledges the incident, validates the person’s hurt, and extends empathy without accepting personal blame. By acknowledging the community’s past errors, the new leader helps everyone move forward, reinforcing trust and showing that they care about the lasting well-being of the community.

Evolving From Past Mistakes

All organizations make mistakes! Healthy ones learn and grow from them — they evolve.  Quick fixes don’t bring about meaningful change; that requires a major shift in how a community operates. A healthy community has leaders who really listen to feedback and always prioritize the well-being of their members. In contrast, communities that repeat past patterns or dismiss criticism are unlikely to become places where writers can truly thrive.

Learning from mistakes involves some navel gazing — leaders taking a long, hard look at what went wrong and asking “why?”. Great leaders not only admit to making mistakes and apologize, but they also get busy fixing the problems caused by those mistakes. This process might include rewriting policies, removing features and options that expose the community to unnecessary risk, or even restructuring the team itself.

Ultimately, a community doesn’t just survive difficult moments by hopping from one to the next; it becomes more resilient when it learns from them. When leaders show they genuinely care by actively working to fix what was broken, they create a space where everyone feels comfortable. In this space, people can voice concerns without fear of retaliation, knowing their feedback matters and will be used to make the community a better place for everyone.

Every Voice Matters

It’s easy for a writing group to say it’s inclusive, but what does that really look like? Genuine inclusivity isn’t just about using all the right buzzwords; it’s about making sure every person feels seen, heard, and respected. Effective leadership isn’t just sitting on a throne or managing public relations — it’s also actively listening to what members are saying, especially when it’s criticism. If a group’s leadership team routinely ignores members’ pain or dismisses their valid concerns, it’s a bright red flag.

It’s not enough to just say you’re listening. You have to show it. One way a community shows it’s truly inclusive is by acting on feedback. This could be as simple as changing a policy that made someone uncomfortable or as big as revamping a whole forum based on member suggestions. When member input truly matters and leads to change, it cultivates a space where people feel comfortable being themselves without fear of judgment.

Ultimately, a community’s inclusivity is judged by its most vulnerable members. It’s when those who have been marginalized or hurt in other spaces feel welcome and protected. When leaders show through active listening that they prioritize the well-being of all its members, the community grows beyond being just a group and becomes a true second home for its writers — a place where everyone feels a sense of ownership, not just a place they visit.

Lessons from a Legacy’s End

Where do we go from here? The answer starts with a long, hard look at the past. We’ve seen firsthand how slow action and a lack of transparency can destroy a beloved community, and how a refusal to address past mistakes can push away even the most loyal members. We’ve learned that an organization cannot achieve redemption without acknowledging the harm it caused, and NaNoWriMo cannot be revived without it.

In the wake of NaNoWriMo’s end, former members are speaking up for what they truly value in a community, and these conversations reveal what they expect from new organizations. The question now is not just what a new writing website, program, or community should provide, but how its leaders will prove their trustworthiness from day one.

I understand the impulse to try and bring back what we lost — to reclaim the good memories and pretend the bad didn’t happen. It’s a natural part of the grieving process. But trying to revive NaNoWriMo is only making a sad situation worse. With every new revival attempt, the fond memories we once cherished are buried under more and more disappointment and frustration. The old organization is gone for a reason! The only real way to heal and move forward, while also holding onto nostalgia, is to stop trying to resurrect NaNoWriMo from the dead.

The collapse of NaNoWriMo taught us that a community’s legacy isn’t just its traditions, but the way it treats its people, especially when things get tough. Its end created an opportunity to build something new and better. We can honor the traditions we cherished while creating a brand new legacy — one founded on trust, transparency, and a genuine care for the safety and well-being of every writer.

A New Way Forward

The collapse of a popular and beloved community like NaNoWriMo creates a vacuum, but it also presents a powerful opportunity for writers to find or create communities that genuinely serve their needs. Instead of trying to resurrect a flawed legacy, we can channel that energy into building new and better writing communities and programs.

And here’s the thing, NaNoWriMo was never the only path. Today there are more opportunities for writers than ever before, from small, local writing groups to large online communities, each offering something unique. 

This moment is about finding your specific place, your own unique tribe — a space that aligns with your values, whether that’s rooted in a shared genre, a specific writing goal, or common values. This could mean seeking out a private, intimate group like the Rogue Writers, or exploring the wider world of alternatives and programs such as the ones shared in this Reddit thread.

Ultimately, the responsibility to shape a new era for writing communities rests on both leaders and participants. Leaders of new and existing groups must prioritize the safety and well-being of their participants by committing to transparency, trust, and genuine inclusivity. Likewise, participants can advocate by using what they’ve learned to spot red flags, ask questions, and speak up when things feel wrong.  It’s through this collective effort that the NaNoWriMo legacy becomes a cautionary tale we can all learn from as we build a new, better future for writers.