Note: As an excercise in the ideas of my super-short essay, I've only done a minimal spelling edit on it.  I hope to read it and learn something about my raw thinking at a later time. This is my direct answer to the notion that fan fiction must be written responsibly.

In Praise of Irresponsible Writing


The truest glory of creating with words is the pleasure of lesser consequences. Whereas burning down a building in the real world is full of woeful trauma, the tale of a burning building is Drama! Suspense! Excitement! Romance! When writing is play, humongous monsters can trash Tokyo, and wake up tomorrow to do it again. All is possible, and nothing is permanent in the world of words. It is true that someone can read words and use them to decide on action, but that is not happening within the stories themselves. Writing is a place where we can be free of thought, but at the same time share those thoughts with other people.

Current theory on learning holds that the greatest education is what happens when we play. Words can be play, and and a place to try out things I can’t bear the results of in the real world, or think that I can’t. When I play with words, I learn. The more that I learn, the more responsible I can be, because I can operate from a state of greater understanding. Reading the joyously written tales of other people shows me where our thoughts are kin or alien, gives me a mirror to my own mind, places me in a context of humanity, and reveals the secret that sharing thoughts with other people can be massively fun. The most important element of play is that one approaches the activity without internal or external coercion, though these may arise within the play itself. The motivation for continued open sharing comes from the pleasure of the activity, and will only be lessened by an overly controlling approach.

If we hold back, if we lie to please others, if we are silent on fearful or controversial issues, then we operate in a vacuum of information. How am I to know if what everyone represses is the same? How can I evaluate whether it should be repressed? Nobody can speak with authority, because of the paucity of sharing. Writing is a place where we can share these things with minimal damage; if we must be silent there on the pressing issues of our hidden passions, then where can we learn to know and understand them?  Where can I simply say things I am afraid are true, that I believe to be true, or that I wish to be true? And if I can’t do these things, I will be lesser educated for it, I will be weaker in my own self-concept, I will be more arbitrary in my choices.

We have to be irresponsible somewhere in order to know ourselves and each other. Why not in the words of acknowledged fiction, where the consequences are least?

Today began badly, with tangled, dry hair, a lint-covered black coat, the elevator at work being broken, and myself being both sleep-deprived and surrounded by a pod of Morning Persons calling to each other in mind-bending pitches. This is what I typed to comfort myself and avoid sudden-onset screaming.

But things got better. The SO brought me a chocolate cupcake, I found out that Santa's reindeer are all butch lesbians, my cat is clingy because of the cold, and I'm finally going to get to watch Friday Night Lights 101.

And! I worked with a pattern for a neck warmer to make the SO something warm and face-covering for 20 degree (F) weather. (Mock away once and future Canadians. California kid, here. It's not supposed to freeze in Surf City.) The yarn is this luscious baby alpaca that is so soft and cuddly that my cat is jealous. (She also wants to hunt and attack it, but that's normal for anything smaller than a breadbox.)

In further knitting news, I finished a lap blanket, an iPod sock, and a shawl recently. I almost feel like an actual knitter. Next up: redesigned scarf based on the famous Doctor Who scarf.

Meanwhile, in the war-torn country of Fandonia, the population is bursting with stories to tell. Will enough beta readers be discovered to edit the adventures of Samuel Winchester and his Hotass of Doom?  Or will the dark forces of bad grammar keep the people down?
stungunbilly: (Me n Thee)
( Nov. 18th, 2006 05:08 am)
There is no meme for this, so I will have to just pretend.

"List your current fandoms and describe them in sound and scent and also, colour. Give each a season, a time of day, and don't forget to assign it a symbolic Major Arcana card."

Supernatural is wine red and candlelight gold, scented of cordite and old metal and maybe also pumpkin pie spices. Its soundtrack is classic rock and the leaner metal of the seventies, with a touch of eighties whine and the nineties pounding. It's season is autumn, it is a night world, and the appropriate tarot card is obviously the Fool.

Stargate:Atlantis is cobalt, aqua, and the rusty red of old blood. Smelling like adrenaline sweat, ozone, and the sea, it also gives one a whiff of animal hides and plasic. Classical music, movie scores, and Johnny Cash tunes are interspersed with the occasional flashback to pop hits of the 80s. This is a fandom where the seasons are two; storm and scorching sun. It lives in the daytime, high noon, and clearly the only possible card is the Lovers.

That was fun! Maybe I'll do some more fandoms later, but for now, there is a J-squared story I really must read.
Merry Chanakwanzaamastice again!
And, note to self: never let the bad people make you go away from the nice interwebs ever, ever again.
I'm *this* close to delirium tremens, here.

It's not like I have as much time online or writing as I want, seriously, it's just that usually I can snatch time here and there. Without that periodic contact? I felt like I was in an underground bunker where I had to rely on TELEVISION for the news, and could get no flist news at all, and anything could be happening but I would miss out.

Maybe there is something to that whole Internet Addiction malarkey, but I don't want to be cured. Just keep me jacked in, please.

ETA: And Rodney would most definitely be jonesing for the Internet, yes indeed he would.


stungunbilly: (Default)


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