a fool's musings

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Fool, said my muse to me,
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2001-12-20 - 11:40 p.m.

ambivalence and fanfic

This came up on the State of the Union list the other day, and then I found myself confronted with it in real! live! color! tonight.

What am I talking about?

My ambivalence toward fanfiction as a whole.

On SotU, the question was asked, has anyone in your family ever read your fic? How did you feel? How about friends? People from work?

My answer was that my family knows all about my fic habit, and none of them can be bothered to read anything I've written.

Which is good, in the case of the slash [my dad would be *horrified* that I've got Superman sucking off Lex Luthor - Superman is NOT gay, he tells me, not that there's anything *wrong* with that. *g*] and the darker NC-17 stuff I've done.

My mother doesn't need to read that.

The others all want to know when I'm going to write something I can sell, or that won't get me nasty letters from lawyers, etc.

Most of my "real life" friends know I write, and they even know I write fanfic, but I was *very* reluctant to reveal that tidbit.

Not because of content, but because I was ashamed of my inner geek.

One or two think it's interesting, and have heard of the fanfic phenomenon, but with the others, it's something of which we *never* speak.

And tonight, at the office Christmas party, I was asked by the one woman I'm actually really friendly with what I was writing.

I hemmed and hawed, and she was like, "I understand. It's personal and hard to share, but I think it's great that you're writing. Is it a novel? Do you write short stories?"

So I said, "Well, um, what I write isn't really publishable. It's something called fanfiction. Where you take other people's characters and write stories about them."

She was like, "Huh. Interesting." And we dropped the topic.

But I'm *so* ambivalent about this, not because I'm not proud of what I've written, because I mostly am.

It's the idea of being immediately labeled a geek or a dork or a nerd that bothers me. Much as it did in high school, when I was arguably *less* geeky, because although I read a lot of sci-fi fantasy crap, I couldn't recite dialogue from a "cult" television show like Buffy or expound on the convoluted Summers family tree or the various retcons in Wolverine's history. Hell, in high school, I'd never even *heard* the word "retcon" and the X-Men were an overly earnest cartoon I sometimes watched when I was up on Saturday mornings.

It bothers me that I'm still so shallow that this type of labeling would bother me - and you and I both *know* that there would be labeling, so let's not even pretend otherwise - it would be "eccentric" or "quirky" or just downright "weird" - and those are words I can live with, nay, covet. As opposed to the others.

I mean, who wants to be outed as the Comics Guy from the Simpsons?

Yet, on the other hand, why should I care? I should let the freak flag fly, right?

Sigh. Life really is just like high school. No wonder I'm so grouchy all the time.

But there really is a stigma attached to liking sci-fi/fantasy stuff. And the funny thing is, I mostly grew out of reading it, but I'll still get suckered in by a good show or movie. I loved Harry Potter.

Maybe the HP phenomenon will make it less of a stigma to like that stuff. Maybe I'll get over myself and realize that I'm too old to be worrying about being "cool," especially since I've never been cool in my whole life, so why should I expect to start now?

~victoria

Current music:
"Rain King" by Counting Crows
"Son of a Preacher Man" by Dusty Springfield



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2001-12-20 - 10:45 a.m.

cliques and claques

Important stuff out of the way first: I am ending Different Roads with Lex and Clark leaving the airport. The Cruciato scenes will stand as their own fic, and then I'll get the AI crew to Smallville in a third. Gotta come up with a title for that.

I just felt like I was writing a completely different fic when I started expanding, and it didn't fit my vision of Different Roads [being completely on a different topic, as it were, than the divergent paths Lex's and Cordelia's lives have taken] so I feel much better doing it this way. Instead of compromising/diluting what I think is a nice little two-character piece, it can stand on its own, and all the rest [which is currently fairly craptacular] won't ruin it. *g*

If anyone's got a cool name for this little trilogy, let me know.

The songs running through my head on this morning's commute were a fairly odd lot, starting with "Devil's Haircut" by Beck, segueing into "How Soon Is Now" and "This Charming Man" by the Smiths, which somehow led to "Sunshine Superman" [I think that's the name of it - "Superman and Green Lantern ain't got nothin' on me... 'Cause I've made my mind up you're going to be mine / I'll tell you right now, every trick in the book that I can find…" that one] by Donovan [again, I think], and finally ending up at "Sit Down You're Rocking the Boat," as sung by Nicely Nicely in the Nathan Lane revival of Guys and Dolls. *g*

Don't question it. I don't.

Anyhow, I've been doing a lot of thinking about cliques and such, thanks to glass_onion [and have I mentioned how much I love that list? That and zendom are just too much fun, what with the mega meta-discussions I find so fascinating].

My feeling is this: As a newbie in a newsgroup, I learned that you lurk, then you speak, after you've followed the conversation for a while.

If you're smart, polite, witty and don't make your first post a bitch about newsgroup culture, people will respond.

If you start out with a "This newsgroup is so negative! Lighten up! It's just a TV show!" or some variation thereof, you're not going to do well. Also, "Everyone here hates me. No one sends me feedback. You're all Person A's whores and toadies." Not a good opening gambit.

I was accepted in alt.tv.homicide, though I never really *felt* like I was. I always felt as though I were on the periphery. There was certainly a group of old-timers/regulars who tended to carry the conversation, and there were the RiotChicks - but anyone could join, and if you were smart and funny and knew the show, you were easily accepted.

I never found the group to be full of "humorless sociopaths" as they were described by one disgruntled newbie. They were snarky as hell and *smart* and didn't suffer fools or trolls gladly.

Those are *good* things.

In Buffy fandom, I was much more active, to the point of having minions. *g* That whole thing about it being "all about Victoria P." comes from a joke on atbvs that sort of ended up running wild. I'm not active on ata or atbvs anymore, really, so I'm one of the undead - I drop in from time to time, an eminence grise, if you like, who says fogeyish things like, "I remember back in Ought Eight, when Xander's Lie was the big discussion topic" [and yeah, my inner Grandpa Simpson just reared his toothless head *g*].

The whole Hellmouth Lounge/Limbo/socializing on the ng debate was probably the first time I ever really self-identified as part of a clique.

Certainly, when I began writing fanfic, and joined XMMFF, I didn't expect to be fawned over. I posted fic, I got nice feedback. I could easily see that there were cliques, per se, but only because those people *knew* each other from other places, and had been there since the very, very beginning, while I was coming in a month later (and people who came in later than that, probably had their own ideas about who the "cool club" was).

People gravitate towards like-minded people. This is the way we're built. We're social creatures and we like to talk about our interests.

I've never begrudged anyone their circle of friends. I suppose I've got my own clique now, with Meg, Jen, Dot and Pete on Unfit, but on the list we *try* to keep the in-jokes to a minimum, though we're not always successful. That sort of shared history will leak out into public conversation, and it *can* make new people uncomfortable, but look at it this way - when you meet a group of new people in real life, you don't expect them to jump on you and love you immediately, do you? If you do, you're in for some serious shocks.

Why am I giving all this personal history? Well, just so I can show that I have some personal experience with being on the outside of whatever the clique is. I've never perceived myself as being part of a clique (except in Buffy, as noted), and even now, in L/R, I don't think I am.

I've always been one of those people who is in the group but not *of* it. If that makes sense. I'm friendly with people from different "sides" in fandom debates. I have no problem chewing someone out for something I disagree with one day and teaming up with them to argue a point the next. It's just how I am.

Some people are more sensitive, or feel the need to not go against whatever they perceive their clique or group is. I owe allegiance to no group except the people I consider friends. And I'm very loyal. I'm one of those people who'll do almost anything for someone I consider a friend [up to and including hiding the bodies *g*], but if I feel betrayed, I don't ever get to that same level of trust again.

And that's possibly too much personal info.

I do feel an obligation to defend *writing* and *fandom* as craft and concept, but that's altogether different.

I think the main problem the "popular" authors have with claims of "She's so popular, and she hates me" is that it traduces their own self-image as uncool outsider.

This is just my take on it, but I think it makes sense.

Look at your typical newsgroup or list of fic writers. How many of us do you think were popular in high school?

Exactly.

So to all of a sudden be equated with the Prom Queen of the XYZ fandom is disconcerting. It causes a disconnect with one's self-image as the perpetual bitter outsider who was never popular and reveled in their geekery. It traduces the idea of being unpopular and thus able to tell truths that the popular people would never understand/see/admit or whatever.

It's like seeing yourself as Season 1 Xander or Willow while everyone else sees you as Season 1 Cordelia.

Or, to use an example non-Buffy watchers might get - you see yourself as Ally Sheedy or Judd Nelson in Breakfast Club, and everyone else is equating you with Molly Ringwald or Emilio Estevez.

Serious cognitive dissonance.

I have personal experience with this. As you might have noticed, I have a bit of an inferiority complex regarding some of the writers in the fandoms I'm in. I'm told this is unwarranted, but that doesn't stop me from feeling it.

So imagine my shock when I sent feedback to another writer of [and from!] whom I'd never heard, I got the response 'Oh my god, *the* Victoria P. of movieverse fame likes my story!?'

I've never been *the* Victoria P. anywhere except in my own fantasies of winning an Oscar [I never wanted to be an actor, so it must have been for a screenplay] or a Pulitzer or a Nobel prize for literature. [Yeah, I have delusions of grandeur. I'm an oddly paradoxical creature.]

I apparently have a reputation, even amongst people who've never sent me a word of feedback [and why *is* that? But the feedback thing is a whole other subject and this is way too long as it is]. Who'd'a thunk it?

And it seriously messes with my own image of myself as plucky underdog writer who can't measure up to the "greats" in the fandom. I've yet to reconcile this, which is one reason I'm generalizing and thinking that many other writers are also dealing with this disconnect between self-perception and other-perception.

Because we're always at least three people: who we think we are, who others think we are, and who we really are.

Integrating those various personae is a goal of mine, but we never really do get a clear picture on the last two, do we?

So, to sum up [after far too much babbling, I'm afraid], there is no great Clique Conspiracy that I'm aware of, with the BOFQs [Bitter Old Fic Queens] attempting to keep the newbies down. Yeah, there are nasty people, but some of the nastiest I've seen have been newbies who didn't get the attention they felt was their due, and the oldtimers responded in kind.

You reap what you sow, people. Remember that always.

Anyhow, I don't even know if this makes sense. It did this morning on the subway while I was thinking about it, but I was also singing "Sit Down You're Rocking the Boat" to myself, so how much sense can I really be making?

I leave you with two quotes:

"The devil will drag you under / you're much too heavy to float / sit down, sit down, sit down, sit down / sit down you're rocking the boat"

and, on the Cubs signing Moises Alou to a 3-year, $27 million contract [and this is QFM, 'cause I deleted the email by mistake and couldn't retrieve it. sigh]:

"You know Boog Powell was part of the family, but he had to change his name, because Boogalou was too funky for baseball." Joan D.

~victoria



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2001-12-19 - 5:20 p.m.

VSOP

Very Superior Old Pale.

XO is Extra Old

VSOP retails for $30-$40 a bottle, and XO for $140-$150 a bottle.

Guess what Lex and Clark are drinking. *g*

And now, home.

~vic
what? I'd forget, otherwise

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2001-12-19 - 3:31 p.m.

brandy, distractions and books

Be proud of me, man.

I managed to go to Barnes & Noble, get gift certificates and NOT buy myself anything.

Do you know how rare it is for me to walk out of a bookstore without at least ONE unexpected, impulse purchase? I think this is a first, except for the time I got unexpectedly claustrophobic at the crowd in there and walked out without even looking around.

So now my shopping is well and truly done, since I've taken care of the lads, as my (main) boss calls them [i.e., my 4 bosses ].

Nancy says she never bought them anything, but I don't feel right with that, even though they won't be getting me anything. It's just a weird thing, but I love giving gifts, even when I don't get any in exchange. And it seems weird to me not to give my boss - bosses, in this case - anything.

The other thing I need to get on, if I'm going to do it, is sending cards. I'm going to do it via email, but I still need to do it.

Meanwhile, I'm trying to write more of this CLex in Cali fic, but I'm way too easily distracted, by work, by fun things like updating my diary, reading my email, looking at pretty pics of Rogue and Wolverine, who will be starring together in a comic next month, one which begins with Rogue stealing Wolvie's bike and somehow managing to wind up in a strip joint bar brawl with Wolverine at her side.

*I* could have written that story. I hope it does them justice, and there are some W/R smoochies.

And then there are the lovely Michael Rosenbaum-with-hair pics. He's a cutie, though I think the baldness makes him sexy in a different, sleeker, more malevolent way. Or that could just be my foreknowledge of what Lex will become coloring my impressions.

Anyhow, nothing is getting written, even though Clark is, as we speak, pulling on a pair of black leather pants and shimmying into a red t-shirt while Lex plies him with fine brandy.

What does VSOP stand for, anyway? I knew once, but now I can't remember.

Sigh.

The mind is the first thing to go. I'm too young to be having senior moments, and yet, there they are.

~victoria



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2001-12-18 - 5:22 p.m.

Clark and Lex and shopping in LA

Woohoo! Email's fixed.

Yes, I am a geek and an email addict.

I've been working on this all day long, on and off. I don't know if I like it. It sort of defeats the purpose of the first part of the fic, which is strictly Lex-Cordelia.

But Dot wants to see evil slime demons in S&M getups and Clark cleaning Angel's clock, and I'm developing a disturbing fetish for boys in leather too, so...

Anyhow, way incomplete, since I still have no idea what the demons are going to be doing, other than slimy demony bad things, but here's the next part of Different Roads. Paths. Whatever the hell I'm calling this thing now.

Insert standard disclaimer here.

Different Roads

Part 2

***

Clark sat in the visitor's chair, attempting to keep the boredom from showing on his face.

For a boy used to the wide open spaces of Kansas, the sheer density of people, buildings and cars in Los Angeles had awed and amazed him. Even Metropolis, which was almost as large as LA (and ranked number one on the "U.S. News" list of the best places to live), wasn't this crowded.

They'd sat in traffic for over an hour, chatting idly about his flight and their plans for the weekend. He could tell Lex was getting impatient at not being able to open up the Porsche. His hands gripped the wheel tightly and the muscle in his jaw jumped sporadically.

When they'd arrived, they'd been whisked up to an expensive-looking, though spare, office with a stunning view of the city.

Behind the desk sat a beautiful brunette woman whose smile couldn't hide the coldness in her eyes. Clark felt a shiver run down his spine.

"Lex," she said, rising and offering her hand. "It's good to see you."

"Lilah," Lex replied curtly. "This is Clark."

She looked nonplussed, as if being introduced to sixteen-year-old farm boys was beyond her experience. She shook his hand firmly and he smiled, trying to shake the chilling feeling she gave him.

And now, an hour later, she and Lex were finally wrapping up their discussion of LuthorCorp business. Clark had tuned it out. It was something about mergers and acquisitions.

Just as Lex was rising to leave, he said, "What can you tell me about a club called Cruciato?"

Lilah was thrown -- even Clark could see it -- but she recovered incredibly quickly. "It's an S&M club," she said, her eyes sliding away from Lex's after the barest minimum contact. "Very passé. And probably not the best place for your," and her eyes raked over Clark's body and he felt himself blush under her direct regard, "protégé."

Lex nodded. "You're probably right." His voice was flat. "Thanks."

As he was walking out the door, Clark on his heels, Lilah said, "Give my regards to your father. Remind him how much I enjoyed St. Kitt's."

"Of course," Lex replied. When they were in the elevator, he muttered, "Can you believe that bitch wants to be my stepmother?"

Clark shivered again, noticeably this time. Lex laughed and clapped him on the back. "Exactly, my friend. Exactly. Like cuddling with a snake."

When they were in the elevator, Lex shot him an enigmatic look. "I think we need to do some shopping."

"What? Oh, no, Lex. I bought my suit for the interview. I can wear it to dinner if that's what you're worried about." Clark thought about the navy suit his mother had picked out at Sears earlier in the week, so proud that he was going on this interview. He sighed. He knew even his best suit would look cheap next to anything Lex wore.

Lex laughed. "Clark, when you're with me, you could walk into the Ivy naked and they'd serve you." Clark felt himself blushing again. "But I'd prefer that you didn't." And Lex's eyes trailed suggestively over him, but instead of the chill he'd gotten from Lilah's gaze, he felt heat course through his body, centering in his groin. Then, looking him in the eye, Lex continued, "I'd rather not have to fight for your attention."

"Uh, good."

Lex just smiled inscrutably.

Clark was never sure how to respond to the -- flirtatious -- remarks Lex made. He found himself attracted to Lex; he could admit that Lex often played a starring role in the fantasies he had while jerking off. In fact, Lex had replaced Britney Spears fairly early on in their friendship, and lately he'd been more prominent than even Lana, which surprised Clark. Because he wasn't gay, was he? But something in the way Lex moved, spoke, and most of all, just *looked* at him -- it made the blood rush in his veins and gave him a strange tingly feeling. he told himself, following along behind Lex as they walked to the car.

They spent a good three hours shopping in stores Clark had never even heard of, where the salespeople rushed at them and begged to assist them.

Well, Lex shopped. Clark trailed behind him like a puppy. He had a little spending money his dad had pressed into his hand before they drove to the airport, saying, "Son, it's not much, but get yourself something nice while you're in LA."

Clark understood the unspoken message. Even though they had scraped together the money to send him on this interview, there was no way, without serious financial aid, he was going to be able to actually attend the program this summer. His father was telling him to enjoy the visit and pick up a remind of the trip, because it was likely he'd never make it back there again.

He didn't resent that fact, though it made him a little sad. He also didn't think his father would approve of the leather pants Lex tried to talk him into buying, even if he *could* have afforded them.

He just blushed and laughed when the salesman gushed over him. It was amazing what money could buy, he thought. Not just things, but people, too.

After shopping, they ate a large dinner at Mariposa. Lex assured him the prices were "reasonable," though Clark was sure that his idea of reasonable and Lex's were about as far apart as Smallville was from LA.

They were nestled at a cozy table in that allowed them to see everything -- and everyone -- without being seen themselves.

As they headed back to the car after crème brulée and cappuccino, Clark said, "What should we rent? I want to see _Pitch Black_ again. I love that movie."

Lex looked at him, puzzled. "Don't you want to go out tonight, Clark? The interview isn't until three tomorrow. We've got plenty of time to sleep in."

Clark smiled gamely. "Sure. What'd you have in mind?"

"I bought you a surprise," Lex said. "You can wear it to Cruciato."

Clark stopped walking. "Isn't that -- didn't Lilah say that was, uh, an, uh, S&M club?"

Lex nodded. "People dress in leather. There are -- performers, if you're interested. You don't have to do anything, Clark. Just stick with me. Think of it as broadening your education. Isn't that what this trip is all about?"

He nodded and let the subject drop for the moment.

***

So next we get the boys in leather and there's a collar involved, and CLark beating the snot out of Angel before they both realize they're good guys.

i have a feeling this part of the story may never see the light of day beyond this, but I could be convinced otherwise.

Prove to me that someone's reading this and send me an email. *g*

Or not.

Current music:

Neil Young: Rocking in the Free World
Buffalo Springfield: For What It's Worth
BOC: Don't Fear the Reaper

Yeah, baby. *g*

~victoria

going home now

[current mood: ]
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~*~

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The painting is "Boreas" by John William Waterhouse. Again, not a muse, but I like her. She suits the color scheme.

The quote is from Sir Philip Sidney.

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