One of my roommates just called me a pervert for writing fanfiction, and all I can think is, ‘Fuck you.’ I’m not just sitting at my computer like a psycho, obsessing over fictional characters. I’m one tiny part of a fandom microcosm. We create things. We facilitate discussion over moral values and free will. We conduct graduate level research into questions of integrity and courage and religious beliefs. We tear apart a meticulously constructed universe to examine themes of gender roles and heteronormative behavior, and we transcend language and cultural barriers to stamp out society’s emphasis on body stereotypes, misogyny, socioeconomic status, and what it means to be a tragic hero in a postmodern world barren of true grand narratives. But really, I just write raunchy gay porn.
This is the thing, though.
People view fandom through the lens of documentaries like “Trekkies,” and the whole Beatlemania phenomenon What they fail to understand is that, yeah, those are all extreme fans, and yeah, they do exist, but for every “traditional” batshit-crazy fangirl, there are ten tearing the media they’re viewing apart and reconstructing it into something new, just for them. They do this through metacritical analysis, through fanfiction, through fanart, through various arts and crafts, and through going to conventions and interacting with the original creators of the media on a face-to-face basis. And what people often fail to understand is that these fangirls and boys? They’re productive members of society. They have jobs. Families. Friends. Lives that are enriched by the fandom they participate in and the media they consume.
The best friends I’ve ever had, I’ve made through fandom.
Some of the most interesting experiences I’ve had, I’ve had because of fandom.
Because of fandom my writing skills have improved in leaps and bounds.
Because of fandom I got a job writing for a newspaper without having ever set foot in a college classroom, based purely on my writing talents (which were, as I said before, improved almost entirely on the fact that I was writing fanfiction and receiving real-time constructive criticism on it).
So fuck anyone who thinks that writing fanfiction is gross or creepy or perverted. I feel deeply sad for people who aren’t in a fandom, because the level of connection you can share with people who have the exact same interests as you, and the interesting debates you can get into with people who don’t, is an awe-inspiring thing.
(Source: , via bemusedlybespectacled)
What happens if you fall in love with a writer?
Lots of things might happen. That’s the thing about writers. They’re unpredictable. They might bring you eggs in bed for breakfast, or they might all but ignore you for days. They might bring you eggs in bed at three in the morning. Or they might wake you up for sex at three in the morning. Or make love at four in the afternoon. They might not sleep at all. Or they might sleep right through the alarm and forget to get you up for work. Or call you home from work to kill a spider. Or refuse to speak to you after finding out you’ve never seen To Kill A Mockingbird. Or spend the last of the rent money on five kinds of soap. Or sell your textbooks for cash halfway through the semester. Or leave you love notes in your pockets. Or wash you pants with Post-It notes in the pockets so your laundry comes out covered in bits of wet paper. They might cry if the Post-It notes are unread all over your pants. It’s an unpredictable life.
But what happens if a writer falls in love with you?
This is a little more predictable. You will find your hemp necklace with the glass mushroom pendant around the neck of someone at a bus stop in a short story. Your favorite shoes will mysteriously disappear, and show up in a poem. The watch you always wear, the watch you own but never wear, the fact that you’ve never worn a watch: they suddenly belong to characters you’ve never known. And yet they’re you. They’re not you; they’re someone else entirely, but they toss their hair like you. They use the same colloquialisms as you. They scratch their nose when they lie like you. Sometimes they will be narrators; sometimes protagonists, sometimes villains. Sometimes they will be nobodies, an unimportant, static prop. This might amuse you at first. Or confuse you. You might be bewildered when books turn into mirrors. You might try to see yourself how your beloved writer sees you when you read a poem about someone who has your middle name or prose about someone who has never seen To Kill A Mockingbird. These poems and novels and short stories, they will scatter into the wind. You will wonder if you’re wandering through the pages of some story you’ve never even read. There’s no way to know. And no way to erase it. Even if you leave, a part of you will always be left behind.
If a writer falls in love with you, you can never die.
wow….so that’s accurate.