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.

A Short(ish) Book Review.

Dear Cyber-Friends,

First off:

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This post will be talking about plot twists and reveals for the book I’m reviewing, and therefore the first season of the show inspired on it. The book is Darkly Dreaming Dexter by Jeff Lindsay, and the show, of course, is Dexter.

I was giving the book by a co-worker, after it came up in conversation (I’m not sure how) and I mentioned an interest in reading things written from an atypical psychology angle. Since the book is from the perspective of an ethical serial killer, it obviously fit the bill. I had already watched the first season of Dexter — when something is THAT popular, I usually feel obligated to check out at least a little bit of it — but had stopped there because I hadn’t felt a need to continue. So I already knew what the twist would be at the end of the book. Still, books aren’t TV shows, and I decided to give it a try anyway.

For anyone who doesn’t know the basic premise, Dexter can’t remember ever feeling emotions or connections to people, and feels a compulsion to kill. He was adopted as a small child and raised by a policeman, who recognized the signs for this antisocial behavior early on. His adopted father decided to train Dexter to channel his impulses so that he only hunts other killers, never anyone innocent, and taught him how to be meticulous so he never gets caught, and how to blend in with other people so they never suspect what he’s like inside. As an adult, Dexter works as a tech for the Miami police. The plot kicks off with the investigation of another serial killer on the loose, one whose murders fascinate Dexter and cause conflict between his impulses and his code of ethics.

The narration style of the book is Causal First Person, almost like Dexter is inviting you into a conversation in his head, and it’s full of dark sarcastic self-deprecating humor. This all makes it a deceptively easy read, so you almost don’t realize just how twisted and disturbing our antihero truly is. It’s a clever and compelling method, one that seems to have been quite successful, but one that — for me, in this case — seemed to have kept things a little shallow. It was so busy being clever and quippy that the physiologic and depth became background, the building blocks but not the meat. I still enjoyed it, but I wasn’t feeling like I got a lot out of it. That’s perfectly okay sometimes, of course, but other times you want the other thing. It’s good to know which you’re getting.

That said, there was a moment near the end of the book which caught my attention and made me wish I hadn’t seem the TV first. The big reveal and twist is that the other serial killer is actually Dexter’s biological brother Brian, who is a year older and remembers the brutal murder of their mother that they witnessed as small children, which set them both on the path of emotionally void killers. But right before this reveal, the book builds up the connection Dexter feels to the strange murder scenes more and more, to the point where Dexter begins wondering if he himself is somehow committing them when he thinks he’s sleeping. At some point — probably later than would otherwise have been if I hadn’t had the TV show in mind while reading — I figured something out that made the whole thing much more interesting to the literary geek side of me: this was a modern retelling of Jekyll and Hyde.

Yes, there are different details between Dexter and Jekyll, not the least of which is that Brian isn’t physically the same person as Dexter like Hyde is to Jekyll. Unlike Jekyll, Dexter is also a killer — but he’s a killer with a strong code of ethics which the other self is tempting him to shatter and abandon. The struggle Dexter has between what he’s been taught and what he feels compelled to do, and the doubts and uncertainty he faces before and even after the reveal, are very much an echo of the struggles Jekyll faces in his own story.

As for the story being a metaphor/commentary on society and morals, the role is nicely filled by the fact Dexter is constantly and conscientiously observing his own emotionless and moral-less reactions, and mimicking the behaviors and ethics he’s learned from others. Brian, having never been taught those things, becomes the unshackled Hyde, the darker shadow whose existence forces conflict, shatters carefully built control and illusions, and destroys relationships and lives, by fully embracing the impulses society demands be suppressed.

I don’t know how much of these parallels are on purpose. Perhaps the author deliberately set out to write a modern take on Jekyll and Hyde, and possibly he just didn’t bother telling anyone. It might all be an accident, one of those things which come about when writers stumble upon archetypes. It doesn’t particularly matter to me how it happened; the important thing is that it exists. Remember the depth I was looking for earlier? THAT is where I found it.

Happy reading, and Happy 2015!

Love,

GeGi.

Uhhh, what was that again?

Dear Cyber-Friends,

Today I’m gonna talk about a little movie with a big idea: Primer (2004).

This low-budget sci-fi deals with the old standard of time travel in an amazingly refreshing, realistic, and complex way. Staying true to the pattern of many historical scientific breakthroughs, within the movie the time travel is an accidental side-effect of what the engineers are actually trying to invent. Also grounded in reality is: how this machine is built, what it looks like, how it functions, and (as far as this non-engineer geek girl can tell) the tech-talk-filled conversations about it.

All well and good, and if you pay close attention you can even follow the plot this far. It takes about half an hour of this 1:17 length movie before the time travel even comes into play, and nearly as long again before the plot goes well and truly off the rails into the land of “What.” and “I’m so confused”. Seriously, I had to go read a plot summery online before I felt I could even attempt to follow the twists, much less understand what actually just happened in that last 20+/- minutes.

Despite that, I was still left with the impression that this was a brilliant movie overall. I love the concept of a reality-based time travel that doesn’t use paradoxes and worm holes and contrivance and exposition to try and explain away all the things the writers couldn’t be bothered to figure out. I love the use of un-watered-down tech talk, because I grew up around engineers and I know what their conversations are actually like. I love how they built the machine, how they stumbled onto the discover, and the rules they make for themselves using it. All of that comes off so refreshingly believable and realistic to me. This is a very grounded movie.

While I might have been confused and blindsided near the end, that had very little to do with the machines or in-movie theories of time travel, and all to do with trying to follow the actions and choices of the characters — and the storytelling choices of how and what to reveal when. Those are story problems, and really I don’t think the concept suffered at all because of them. Honestly, I’ll have to re-watch a few times to decide if the story problems are actual problems, or if it’s just so complex and tight that I couldn’t break into it on the first go. I suspect it’s the latter, and that more watching will reveal deeper layers upon layers upon clues.

Primer is kind of a reverse of the usual sci-fi time travel plot; typically, the concept and theory is sacrificed at the alter of the story the writer wants to tell. This isn’t a bad thing in and of itself, but it gets frustrating to see the science part of sci-fi ignored or underdeveloped over and over. I watched this movie on the warning and recommendation that it is the most well-thought-out time travel put to film, and that because of that it would take several views of paying strict attention to even kinda-sorta start to understand it all. At the time, that sounded appealing to me. It still does, and it definitely lived up to both sides of that hype.

I’m not going to re-watch it right away, but this movie is definitely going to be kept around. I can see myself re-watching every once in a while, and breaking it out to show to especially engineer-type geeky friends to get their impressions and discussions. I’m particularly thinking of my brother-in-law for this, actually. And my brother. And probably my dad. Did I mention I come from a geeky sometimes-engineering-centric family?

This was a good movie. I’m still not sure how I feel about the ending, but I’m sure after a few more times I’ll start to form an opinion. Overall, it was a really great concept and it kept me interested. Well done, Shane Carruth. I’m glad you finished your film.

Love,

GeGi.

A Note About Spoilers (sweetie).

Dear Cyber-Friends,

First off, as a Doctor Who fan, I will forever and all-the-time-always hear or see the word “spoilers”, and immediately think this:

Secondly, since I’m making reviewing stuff a thing, I want to lay some ground-rules about spoilers. Obviously in a review there’s going to be some mention of plot, and thus the potential to reveal secrets and surprises.

There is a school of thought that “age = fair game” with spoilers, which means the older movies, TV shows, and books can be fully discussed since everyone has had a chance to see or read it by now.

I do not share this philosophy, though I understand it. Since I haven’t watched and read ALL THE THINGS, I still discover great movies, TV shows, and books that have been around a while. I still like to be able to approach them fresh, knowing little or nothing in advance. I assume there are people out there like me who would also like to do that, and who might like getting recommendations from this blog.

In my Review Day posts, I will not talk in detail about anything not revealed in the pilot or summery. If I do, I’ll talk about it in vague terms that don’t spoil big reveals later on. And if you feel like leaving comments (please do if you want!), then I would appreciate the same respect for anyone who might still be new to whatever the discussion is about.

Links to websites containing spoilers will have a warning (Spoilers, sweetie), and any discussions about spoilers will be in rot13. If you are unfamiliar with rot13, it is a very simple internet cypher used thusly:

1) Text will look like gibberish. Highlight and copy the gibberish.

2) Go to rot13.com.

3) Paste the gibberish in the box and press the “cypher” button.

4) You can now read the text.

If you want to use rot13 to comment, just do the steps in reverse: type in box, cypher, copy, paste in comment.

Thanks for cooperating. It’s really easy, and it’s respectful.

Love,

GeGi.