Storytelling is a superpower, and other thoughts.

Dear Cyber-Friends,

I’ve said (written) a lot of positive things on here about fanfiction. I stand by everything I’ve said before, but due to some recent discussions I’ve been seeing on Twitter lately, I wanted to add a little complexity to my position on some of the issues surrounding fanfic.

Storytelling is important. How we tell the story, what we choose to focus on, and what we do with it afterward, all matter very deeply. These things effect people in a very real way, with very real consequences to their lives. This post is going to talk about some topics that you might not want to expose yourself to right now. I talk about them in pretty general terms, but if even hearing (reading) the name of an issue will adversely effect you, please take care of yourself first and not read this post until/unless you’re in a mentally and emotionally safe place to do so.

The discussions that sparked my own thoughts into wanting to write this post was about toxic shipping in fandom and fanfics. The release of Jessica Jones on Netflix is starting lots of very awesome powerful dialogue due to the incredible handling of PTSD, abuse, rape, misogyny, and other relevant topics for today’s culture. It’s also brought out some less awesome behavior with those people who seem to see romantic tragedy where others see abuse, manipulation, and rape. These are people who ship Kilgrave/Jessica Jones, ignoring all evidence that that’s about the most sickening and unhealthy thing they could possible do. That’s not even touching on the fact that shipping an abusive one-sided relationship is triggering for survivors of such, and also the fact that it’s showing support and/or excusing that kind of behavior in the real world.

The things we create in fiction don’t live in a vacuum, safe and away from all “real world” consequences. It doesn’t matter if we’re creating TV shows, best-selling YA fiction, or internet-only fanfic. All it takes is other people, even just one other person, seeing it. The moment that happens, it’s effecting the real world. It has become part of the world, released into the wild to spawn and grown and change in someone’s mind, becoming part of their thoughts and ideas. So us storytellers must, MUST, be responsible about what we say. But we also have to let go after it’s out there. The time for us to make sure we’re getting it as right as we can is while we’re creating it. After that, it’s too late. It’s already out there, and we don’t get a second change to fix our mistakes.

So when the story is about an abusive relationship, it needs to be called out on being an abusive relationship IN THE NARRATIVE. This is something Jessica Jones did. My skin crawled seeing Kilgrave, despite how much I adore David Tennant. They never shrank away from the fact he was a horrible awful person, even when they gave him complexity and backstory and explanations (and please note: these were NEVER framed as excuses except by Kilgrave). Not all narratives do this; in fact, very few of them do at all. They turn abusers into someone misunderstood, broken but fixable through love and sacrifice. That’s the lessons learned by people who ship Kilgrave/Jessica, because like Kilgrave, they learned about love by seeing it in movies and TV shows. That kind of narrative about love not how the real world works, and survivors of abusive relationships know it.

People who buy into the toxic narrative and defend it are hurting the survivors. They’re also hurting themselves and anyone else who listens to that narrative, because it makes it easier for the myth to perpetuate. They’re giving confusion and uncertainty to people who won’t always recognize abuse because it’s been dressed up as romance. They’re giving excuses and justification to those who will use romanticized abuse to get what they want from other people, consciously or not. They’re supporting a culture that doesn’t acknowledge rape, abuse, misogynist, violence against women. They’re supporting a culture that can’t tell the difference between what’s okay and what isn’t. They’re supporting a culture that devalues the abused and their experiences.

I’m not saying the people who ship these things are bad, necessarily. They might be. I don’t know, because I don’t know them at all. All I can tell is that they’re certainly misinformed and in desperate need of some feminist education. I’m sure a lot of them would disagree with me and call me a lot of horrible things if they read this. I’m sure a lot of them wouldn’t even realize the irony of doing that, how it would in fact prove my point better than my own words can. This happens all the time, both on the internet and in the “real world”. Despite all progress, we’re still living in a toxic culture, one where just telling the truth about it on the internet can, and often does, lead to death threats, rape threats, and verbal abuse.

Which is why storytelling is so desperately important. The real world hurts, and a lot of us use escapism to survive it — I certainly do. The thing is, it isn’t really escapism. It’s just a different way to change and explore the very same narrative we’re living in day after day. The way that narrative is framed will either make our wounds bleed more, or help them to heal. If someone is telling a story with toxic relationships, framing them as tragic romance is adding to the very thing that’s hurting us in the first place. But framing them with in-your-face honest realism, showing just how bad and awful and insidious they are, makes them become something we can then point to and say, “See, this is what’s really going on. This is what it feels like to be stalked and manipulated and trapped and then survive. It’s not romantic. It’s not something you get over by the next episode. It’s scary as hell, and it changes you for life. It doesn’t make you weak. It doesn’t make you strong. It’s awful, and it’s happening every day. But we can still fight back.”

There was another conversation happening a few days ago. It was about how J.K. Rowling was continuing to tell people the right and wrong ways to interpret her characters. These people were talking about how hurtful it was for an author to do that. They had bonded with the people in these stories because the characters resonated with real life experiences and people. The characters were real to them, like all our favorite fiction characters are real to us. They had claimed them, had written and read fanfiction about them, had created their own narrative and framing about them, both by using what was in the text and by going beyond it. These people were offended and outraged at the author telling them they were wrong in their own interpretations.

So how are those people different from the people shipping Kilgrave/Jessica Jones?

They’re different for a very simple reason: the framing and narrative created by toxic shipping is ADDING to a toxic culture. But these outraged fans are creating interpretations to DISMANTLE toxic culture. They’re creating narrative to add POC, to add queer relationships, to call out abusers, and other important issues that were overlooked or deemed unimportant in the original text. No work of fiction is perfect, even Harry Potter, and it can certainly be hard to tackling every issue at once. So these people are taking something they love, something profoundly important to our generation, a touchstone of our culture, and they’re adding this framing to it. They’re doing it because they love it, and because they have the real life experiences and knowledge to understand where the failings and shortcomings are, and they have the passion to try and fix them. This is something I love and adore about fandom, by the way.

J.K. Rowling coming along and telling them that no, those things are wrong, is hugely upsetting. Harry Potter and co are her creations, but as soon as she published the stories, their names and experience became ours, too. They’re part of everyone who reads the books or watches the movies or listens to the audiotapes. They’re part of our culture, a lexicon in our ongoing dialogue about the world. She doesn’t get to invalidate that by telling us we’re doing it wrong. She can and does try, but it doesn’t mean we have to listen to it. She had her chance to tell that story, and now it’s our turn. Which means the responsibility in how the story is framed falls to us, too.

A storyteller gets one shot to get it right. And, regardless of if they do or not, everyone who received that story then gets their own shot to get it right. And on, and on, and on. Stories never really die or go away. They keep mutating, traveling, forming and breaking apart and reforming, over and over and over. Stories are alive, even the ones pinned down with print or film or tape. They’re alive in our minds, as soon as we read them or watch them or listen to them. They never leave us, and they never stop changing our thoughts and feelings and actions. They get passed on, warping themselves through the lens of our perceptions and experiences, and again through those same things of the ones who receive it from us.

How we tell the stories is so important. They can literally change the world for someone, for good or bad. The moment we’ve told the story, we’ve lost the chance to tell it better. So we’d better get it the best we can the first time, because that’s all we get, and with that one chance we can heal or break someone else. It’s scary and huge and real, and it’s powerful and beautiful and magic. Storytelling is the ultimate superpower. It doesn’t matter if you think you have an audience or not. Chances are, someone somewhere is still listening. You’re touching their life. So you can either add to the toxic culture that’s probably already hurting them, or you can use that superpower to help create dialogue to dismantle it, and let them know they’re not alone.

We all have our own experiences, our own truths and struggles and wounds and insights. Storytelling is how we can share those things, finding the common ground with others and opening the eyes and minds of those who never realized what life was like for us. It’s a chance create understanding, compassion, empathy, outrage, revelation, and a myriad of other things that are extremely hard to pass on without the wonder that is storytelling. Storytelling is how we learn about other people, it’s how we can grow to understand the world, how we remember the past, and how we can shape the future.

That’s one reason why I think fanfiction is so important. Not everyone has the same experiences (obviously), so when someone can take a beloved narrative like the Harry Potter books and flesh it out even more by drawing on their own unique view, that adds to both the story as a whole, and to my own views of other people. I can become a little more aware of other peoples’ realities in the real world, and the world of Harry Potter gets a little closer to being complete because more than one voice is adding to it. The more voices and the more diversity gets added to it, the better it gets at breaking down toxic culture for more people. No one is going to get things 100% right, but the more people who add to it, the better the chances get for the overlap to make up the difference. Not to mention how cathartic it can be to add to that narrative and framing yourself, which is exactly what I experienced the first time I venture into writing fanfic as an angsty teen.

I’m a storyteller myself. Not just in this blog, either. I recently finished a first draft of a novel I hope to actually publish in the next year or so, and I’ve started on a sequel already. I’ve been world-building fantasy and sci-fi worlds for stories since I was about twelve or so, and do it by playing Let’s Pretend for as long as I can remember. Saying I love it is kind of a “does not compute” understatement moment for me, because it’s just part of who I am. It’s not something I’m passionate about, because it’s synonymous with passion for me. I breath, I blink, my heart beats, I create people and worlds and scenarios in my head. It just is. Obviously, thinking about getting to share one of those worlds and some of those characters is exciting and cool. But you know what the thing I’m most excited about is? It’s seeing what other people will do with them.

I want to see my own stories get out there, because I want to see how they grow and change with each new interpretation. I want to see what other stories get told with these characters who are real to me, because that means they’re real enough to someone else to inspire those other stories. I want to see what will happen when someone else uses them to tell personal stories, uses them to explore other issues, uses them fulfill other dreams and hopes. I want to see how someone else thinks the story should end. I want those things because seeing them will make me a better storyteller, and a better person. Those are the things that will help me understand someone else, and help me to understand the world and the cultures and all those other things I’m not going to experience as myself. I don’t know what it’s like to live the world as someone else, but using stories like this helps me get closer to that. Especially if they’re using the power of storytelling for good.

Stay strong, cyber-friends, and keep telling stories that help to heal and dismantle those toxic cultures.

Love,

GeGi.

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The Ups and Downs of being a Fan; Or, “Joss Whedon, George RR Martin and Steven Moffat walk into a bar and everyone you have ever loved dies.”

If you know who came up with that quote originally, I will credit them. I heard it in a comments board, and it is SO. TRUE. *cries*

Ahem, so, anyways…

I’ve been reading the Snark Squad reviews on Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Angel the series — which are hilarious and clever and I’m utterly addicted to them — which is where this quote popped up. As a fan of things created by all three of the men, I am acutely aware of their ability to break our hearts in the most effective and surprising ways possible in the name of good story-telling, and make us paradoxically curse their names and beg for more at the same time.

But it happens to be especially timely right now, because I’ve also been processing the fact that there’s only TWO episodes of Matt Smith as the Doctor left.

As a Whovian, realizing you’ll soon have to say good-bye to another Doctor is always a very bittersweet moment. And I’m still traumatized (in a sort of good way, I guess) about saying goodbye to Amy and Rory last season… *sigh* Such is the price of fandom for a good series.

The very first time I heard of the Doctor, it was during Christopher Eccleston’s year, and it wasn’t even an episode. A friend of my older brother’s had some kind of documentary special about Doctor Who playing on the TV in the background, and I kept noticing clips of it. The two images that stuck with me especially were of Peter Davison and his bit of celery (I knew him as an actor from the All Creatures Great and Small series, and loved him in it), and of Christopher Eccleston telling Rose to grab his hand and run, which I later discovered was from their very first meeting in the first episode of his time as the Doctor.

Some time later, I finally got to see the entire of the Ninth Doctor’s season properly, from start to finish. I streamed it off Netflix — back when Netflix was just starting to do that — and watched the whole thing in about two days.

It took a while to adjust to David Tennant. He was so different than the leather-jacket-clad, battle-weary, serious Doctor I first knew. He was always babbling on about things, being so upbeat, wearing the suit and trainers. But he grew on me, as new Doctors do. I learned to love the suit and trainers, to love the babbling and to appreciate that the upbeat side of him was just this Doctor’s way of coping with that part of him that could be vengeful.

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He had so much range as the Doctor, and so much evolution. I bonded with him, inevitably, and he because my new Doctor.

My favorite moment with him is actually from one of the short specials they’d do for Children In Need. Naturally, it was the one with Tennant and Davison. The heartfelt speech Tennant gives to Davison, saying “you were my Doctor”, makes me cry good tears every time, because it seem like each of us has “our” Doctor — often the first one we’ve ever seen — who will always be “the” Doctor in that special place in our hearts. It’s like a baby animal imprinting.

I also began to watch more of the older Doctors, and gain some history and perspective on the series as a whole. I discovered that my Mum had watched Doctor Who with her Dad during their family’s year in England when she was ten, and we figured out that “her” Doctor was Patrick Troughton (this has since changed to David Tennant, as she saw the cheesiness that is the old Doctor Who episodes, and as I’ve been getting her hooked on the newer series).

And then the inevitable ending began. It was quite drawn out with Tennant, as they knew for some time that he was leaving, and took pains to build up to it quite effectively. That last scene with him is so heartbreaking, no matter how many times I watch it.

And Matt Smith began. I was swept away by him and Amelia Pond right off, and had high expectations of excellence knowing that Steven Moffat — the brilliance behind “The Empty Child”, “The Doctor Dances”, “The Girl in the Fireplace”, “Blink”, “Silence in the Library”, and “Forests of Dead” (all some of my favorite episodes) — was taking over at the helm. I was not disappointed. That first year of Smith was every bit as rich and detailed and exciting as I could have hoped for, and I adored the hints and clues in every episode for the season(s) long story-arch set-ups.

As the Smith years went on, I watched the characters grow and evolve. The mystery behind River Song was slowly revealed. Rory became my hero. And so on. The exits of Amy and Rory was heartbreaking perfection, the only acceptable way for those characters to ever leave the show. I was caught up in the new mystery of the Impossible Girl, which also eventually played out to perfection.

And now Matt Smith is leaving.

There’s a lot of speculation about who the New Doctor will be. I’m ignoring it, because I think the best way to meet the new Doctor — and the only way that matters if you want to see what kind of Doctor he’ll be — is by seeing him regenerate and discover himself for himself. I’m looking forward to seeing what he’ll be like, but I’m also sad that Matt Smith is leaving. It’s like saying a final good-bye to a dear friend every time. But before that sure-to-be-tear-filled final Matt Smith Christmas Special, there’s the 50th Anniversary special in November, which is confirmed to have a return of Tennant!

It’s like Moffat is trying to rip our hearts out just a little bit more…