Across the Universe

So I’ve been quiet over here for the past few weeks, but I’ve remained busy in fandomy stuff. For one thing, I’m now approximately halfway through my edit of Harbingers of Beatrice (and it’s been difficult as, for reasons previously stated). I also completed The Longest Distance, my contribution for seasonal_spuffy. And yes, I have been plotting new stuff.

In the midst of this, I am also returning to Strawberry Fields. This story I’ve already edited (and it thankfully didn’t take long, as it was a later work) and will be updating on EF and AO3 once I actually add new words to it. But even though that story began under my other penname (Ameeya), it will be continued as Holly. Last night, Susan over at EF made that official by moving my Ameeya fics to my Holly handle.

And that got me thinking about things I haven’t thought about in a while—namely, why I started writing under a penname after I was already established as Holly. At first, I didn’t 100% recall all the circumstances that led to this decision, only that I hadn’t enjoyed writing and writing anonymously helped. I did know, though, that I had other reasons, and refreshed my memory with my coming-out post. Now, being more than ten years older, I believe it essentially boiled down to my putting too much pressure on myself as well as being too sensitive to the multitude of conversations were essentially arguing against particular fanon lore. It also had to do with my anxiety disorder, but I didn't know that at the time.

In my memory (meaning how I took it, not necessarily how it was), a lot of these conversations devolved into “The Things You Shouldn’t Do In Fanfic.” And one of those things I was definitely doing—that is, the fanon convention of claiming. I was very sensitive about this because I did it pretty much all the time. I also became involved in a few conversations that exploded into all-out arguments, which triggered my anxiety disorder (I didn’t know that’s what it was at the time, but I was way too invested in what was being said, in that it dominated my mind in an unhealthy way that interfered with work, school, and my personal time). Every time I found myself involved, directly or not, in a fandom wank, I became convinced that the thing I valued most at the time—writing these stories—would be taken from me as a result.

In case you’re curious, yes, I now know that’s a stupid thing to think. But anxiety can make you stupid. Not only that, anxiety is incredibly creative. It not only tells you what could happen but lays down a series of steps that, outlandish or not, seem perfectly plausible. And if I was hated in fandom, what joy would there be in writing for it?

Beyond the claiming thing, I was also hyper-aware of every freakin’ word I wrote as I believed I had developed a reputation that I wanted to uphold. As I said in that initial post more than ten years ago, I lost the fun in writing. I believed that what I enjoyed writing was Bad™ and I was Bad™ for liking it, that I alienated people for writing it, that I had alienated myself for being outspoken or getting into arguments, and essentially this escape I’d made for myself was gone.

I must remind you at this point that I was in my late teens/early 20s and in college. I didn’t have a social life—fandom was my social life. It’s where I spent my Saturday nights. Hell, it’s where I spent every night. I was Norm Peterson and fandom was my Cheers, and the thought of not being able to go there made me feel ill.

I didn’t start dating until I was 23 (also due to anxiety reasons, but that’s another post). I didn’t start appreciating real world problems until after I graduated. I didn’t have life experiences like a mortgage, a wedding, crippling debt, or the loss of a parent to compare what I was feeling at the time the way I do now. I was an incredibly privileged kid in so many ways, my anxiety disorder and body image issues notwithstanding. So things that seemed dire at the time now seem ridiculous. But the reason was this: then, fandom was my life, and writing under Ameeya was my way to save it. It was Norm Peterson putting on a fake mustache and hoping Sam and Carla didn’t call him out on it. Because, regardless of what was actually happening at the time, in my head, I had done/said things that made me think I wasn’t welcome.

And that’s how Beloved in Blood happened.

I read a recent review of Beloved in Blood last night—recent as in, someone left it last month. The review was critical and deservedly so. It was also very well stated. The reviewer listed the things that were wrong with the fic in a straightforward, kind manner. They were right on pretty much everything.

For instance: Angel was incredibly out of character, as was Giles. There were some serious non-con concerns too, that I didn’t treat then as I would now. I say this with a relatively fresh memory, as I’ve reread Beloved in Blood recently, and I can confirm it’s a piece of pure fanon fluff.

The thing is, I had an absolute ball writing it. If fandom was my Cheers, writing that story was the equivalent of Norm being snowed in at the bar unsupervised for a weekend. I mean it—I remember cranking out 10k a day on that thing because I wasn’t thinking about things like canon or sounding perfect or upholding a reputation that may or may not have existed. I was writing for the joy of writing and I was doing all the things that I knew I shouldn’t—villainizing Angel (who I actually really like, unlike some other Spuffy fans) being among them.

It was fun until it wasn’t—roughly, when Norm got the hangover and the bill. I found myself more or less where I started, only this time I was sure there was no way out. I’d hurt some of my friends by writing under a penname, which made me feel like shit. I was incredibly naïve at the time. When the ceiling crashed on that, I hit critical levels in my anxiety that writing Spuffy would be taken from me. It was Serious with a capital S this time.

Again, anxiety can be very persuasive.

Obviously, I got over it, and the first step in doing that was owning up. I think I could have owned up better, but hindsight being what it is, I did the best I could at the time. I also vowed to not get involved in fandom talk anymore, which was also naïve because fandom is nothing if not talking about the things you love. But after the Ameeya fiasco, after owning it, I reached a point in my fandom writing where I was able to do the thing I set out to do, and that was force myself to not care what others thought about what I wrote. I don’t know how I did this, but I did. Perhaps embracing what I’d done was a form of fandom CBT—that is, not ignoring the fear but moving toward it. I don’t know. All I can say is that’s how and why I remained another four years in fandom before ultimately leaving to pursue original writing.

But again speaking from the point of being 10 years out of that experience, I can also say that one of the instigating factors that led to my Ameeya disguise was also one I was overtly defensive about. That is, I took it way too personally when people said they disliked claiming fics. It felt personal at the time, even though it wasn’t. It felt that way because claiming fics were really important to me.

I’ve been thinking a lot about claiming in fics, as it happens, mainly because I’m writing fanfic again and editing the old ones. The 30-something writer I am now understands why people don’t like them. I’ve actually gotten to a point where I’m closer to ambivalent on the subject because they are fanon. I’m by no means a canon purist, but relying on them in everything started to seem a little too easy. I get that.

But the reason I loved them then is the same reason I will stand by them now. It’s the reason I made Buffy immortal in The Wallverse. It’s the reason I write romance novels.

That reason? I like HEAs.

It’s stupidly simple, isn’t it?

When I read about couples falling in love, I want an HEA. If I don’t want an HEA, I go outside the Romance genre. For instance, I don’t bank on HEAs when I pick up a Stephen King or Gillian Flynn novel. But if I’m reading fanfic or Romance, it’s because I want the couple to end up together. I wrote fanfic to get Spike and Buffy together in the first place—to get them their HEA. And for me, it’s not an HEA if one partner is immortal and the other isn’t.

Claiming was my way of ensuring that, in my head, their HEA doesn’t end just because of aging.

Now, realistically this doesn’t mean they will literally be happy forever—something I wanted to explore in my seasonal_spuffy fic—because saying goodbye to loved ones is the most difficult thing a person can do. I know this intimately now in ways I didn’t ten years ago.

But instead of being defensive and justifying my reasons for fanfic as artistic expression, perhaps I could have saved myself a ton of anxiety by saying exactly what I just said above. Being forthright was also not one of my strong suits at the time. It is now. I have always been a romance writer—it took actually writing romance novels to really appreciate that. I don’t like writing tragic endings. I like happy ones. Even my angstiest fics end with everyone more or less happy. And for as much as I might have changed in the last 10+ years, that much is going to remain the same. I read to escape a world that is too goddamn terrifying. At the time, it was Bush. Now it’s the loss of my father, worrying about my brother, news-induced anxiety, and a slew of other things. The real world is negative enough, so I want my fictional worlds to be safe.

That was why I loved claiming, and the reason I likely won’t be getting rid of it as I edit my backlist. It’s why claiming might show up in anything new I write, or some other handy excuse that keeps Spike and Buffy together for the long-run. I’ve made her a vampire before; maybe I can make her some other kind of demon. Or maybe I can just apply my rules from The Wallverse to everything. I don’t know, but I’m looking forward to the ride.

I'm also looking forward to being in fandom as I am now, because as much fun as it was then—and however much I needed it—making fandom Cheers put way too much on it and myself.

Or maybe it still can be Cheers; I just won't be Norm anymore.

One of the most frequent criticisms I received in fandom revolved around my word usage. This is typically in reference to the older stories (Sang et Ivoire and Harbingers of Beatrice), but I know it extends to my larger Spuffy bibliography. The criticism is absolutely warranted. While I have been in love with writing all my life, exposure to criticism is something I only began to receive when I dived into the world of fanfiction.

This also is one of the reasons I am such a huge proponent of fanfiction.

In my case, I was a shy virgin teenager who loved to write but hated being read. I especially hated being read when I included a romance in my stories, as I was ashamed of myself for being romantic. I suppose this is a good place to mention I was raised Church of Christ, a congregation that would be happy if unmarried people believed that holding hands resulted in pregnancy. I've always been a romantic, which made my transition into romance writing rather inevitable. And where it took me several years to be comfortable with my best friend reading my love scenes, the anonymity of the internet stripped my reservations aside.

I had always written; fanfiction was my first time being read.

I wrote in a different fandom for a few years before I discovered Buffy. In that first fandom, I was intentionally secretive about my age. I found it (and fanfic itself) when I was 14, which is also around the same time I wrote my first sex scene. I thought if people knew I was 14 that I wouldn't be taken seriously as a writer, and I was VERY serious about my writing. I was 17 when I made the transition from that fandom into Buffy, and while my misgivings about age weren't as strong as they had been, I definitely wanted to sound like a seasoned writer.

So I used a thesaurus.

As I mentioned, I've received a lot of feedback about the first few Buffy stories I wrote about the word usage and general readability. I became aware of the problem the more I wrote and, given what I've recently edited of Strawberry Fields, eventually learned to trust my instincts and not reach for a thesaurus every time I had a word in mind. I also stopped relying so much on overly complex sentences stuffed full of multi-syllabic words. In other words, I grew as a writer. That's what fandom gave me.

Now that I'm back in the fandom mood, I've decided to undertake a rather, umm, ambitious project.

I want to edit every one of my old works.

This is not to erase the original versions. I couldn't do that even if I wanted to, and I don't want to. Painful as reviewing these stories may be, they are an example of where I was during certain parts of my writing journey. But I'm thinking of the long-term -- these are stories I am mostly very proud of. I'd like them to be readable at least and a few of them aren't.

I know this because I am a prolog + two chapters into editing Harbingers of Beatrice and there is a disturbing amount of prose in there that I, the author, do not understand.

That's a problem. I'm more than 12 years removed from that story as its author, but you'd think I'd at least know what I meant.

In many cases, I don't.

So for the time being, I've added this disclaimer to Sang et Ivoire on Elysian Fields:

I started writing it in 2002, when I was 17 years old. I finished it shortly before my high school graduation.

One of the most common critiques I receive for this work (and other fics that were written around this era) is the misuse of words. It is an absolutely fair criticism. I did misuse a lot of freaking words. Also? I was overly verbose and a bit too purple prosey. I also didn't have a beta reader on this story, as it was my first in Buffy fandom. So what you see when you read this particular story is a 17-18 year old trying to sound older than she is. Like a lot of young writers, I thought people wouldn't take me seriously as an author if they knew I was still in high school, so I tried to hide it. And yes, in some cases, I just didn't know better, but try telling that to a teenager.

As a professional editor, I completely understand if improper word usage throws you out of the story. It certainly would me. But I hope a little context will make those errors, egregious as they may be, a little more bearable.

Thanks!

- Holly

My end goal is this: to edit the entire backlist of Spuffy work and update the stories on Elysian Fields. Other archives I'm not going to bother with. I'm also keeping the HTML files as they exist on my website so I have a record of how the stories initially read. However, I plan to remove them from the website itself and replace them with .mobi, .epub, and PDF copies of the revised versions to download.

This will likely take me the rest of the year, probably longer, to complete since I'm also working on original works and NEW Spuffy work, but I think it's worth it.

So anyone currently reading Harbingers of Beatrice -- the first two chapters have been edited. I am aiming to edit a chapter a day, but that's also a lofty goal. We'll see what happens.

I started with Harbingers, rather than Sang et Ivoire, because I know Sang will be the hottest of the hot messes. I think that one might be tackled last because if I do it and Harbingers back to back I'll likely just go rock myself in a corner.

In other news, and as a follow-up to yesterday's post, I am going to start weening myself off LJ, but for the time am just cross-posting. I have mixed feelings about the TOS thing. All stories/chapters/anything I might write will be posted exclusively on DW, Elysian Fields, and AO3 (once my membership request is approved). I understand the new TOS won't really affect me (aside from LJ deleting my account for writing sex scenes or going on a political rant, which is entirely possible), but the new TOS will absolutely affect the LGBTQ community in Russia. I believe when we look at things like this simply through the scope of how it affects the self, we're not being good stewards of our neighbors. Even with a narcissistic manchild in office, I feel very privileged to live in a country where I can call him a narcissistic manchild without fear of being fined or imprisoned. If we don't speak for people who do not have the same luxury, then no one will.