With NaNoWriMo gearing up a lot of my time is focused on that. Well, not a lot, but you know what I mean. However, I know I’m near the end of the prep state and right now I just want to lay down my first hundred or so words.
I seem to have writer’s anxiety, which appears to be the case with a lot of people. I see it on the boards everywhere: “I want to start writing.” “I can’t wait to begin writing!” Yeah, everyone is ready for the birth.
It’s getting through the labor that sucks so much.
Having never done this before I’m looking all over the place to make connections. I have several friends who are doing it this year as well; I’ve got the Facebook and Twitter sites locked down; and I’m on Skype talking to people when they come on.
Like yesterday . . . (Ever noticed that everything here is “yesterday”? Are these my yesterdays alone, or All Our Yesterdays? Have I taken this joke too far?) I fired up the Skype and spoke with some of the people who are getting ready for this insanity. One woman had a couple of characters ready and was going to “let the writing take her where it wanted”. Another said she never plotted out, she just went. And the one I thought was most interesting–she was going to write for a couple of days, and if the novel wasn’t working for her, “I’m going to do a fanfic”.
We all know what fan fiction is, right? Where people decide they want to put themselves into a world created by another and build their own adventures–or, better yet, lets take established characters and do things with them. Maybe they die in a battle where they once lived, and it changes the in-world history. Or they hook up with someone else, rather than the character the original author chose (this last was a particular bone of contention with Ms. Fanfic, as she was rather incensed with the “End of the Story” hookups found in the Harry Potter world–and if you know me, you know when it comes to geek outrage I’ve moved beyond that). Or, better yet, lets go the slash fic route and get Ginny in bed with Luna so the later can get her nargles all tingly. (I would have said “Lets get Harry and Draco in bed”, but that’s been done to hell and gone–with Tom Felton’s approval, apparently.)
Hell, I know fanfic, only when I was growing up in the 1970’s and 80’s it was stuffed away in badly Xeroxed fanzines that were difficult to get your hands on, if you could at all. If it weren’t for fanfic we wouldn’t know about Mary Sues, since they are a direct offshoot of the fanfic genre. And lets face it: in earlier times fanfics ended up becoming wholly legitimate parts of an overall mythos.
I never wrote much fanfic. The closest I got into it was doing a few stories set in the Cyberpunk game universe, which I wrote around the time I was actually running a years-long campaign. The first one I finished–the one that I presented to my then writing group–end up topping out at about 130,000 words, which was, for anyone, a hell of an effort.
I remember finishing it, sitting back as a nice, warm glow came over me, and suddenly thinking, “What the hell am I gonna do with this?” ‘Cause this was 1992, and posting stuff to FanFiction.Net wasn’t an option. These days the Internet is the the place all fanfic goes to live–though I’m really looking forward to 2050 and the expiration of the copyright on the Lord of the Rings trilogy because I’ve got some mad elf sex scenes to write.
My fanfic was really the fetish fiction I did earlier in the century (I love being able to say that). It was done with the idea that (1) it would give me an outlet to be creative, (2) I could put it somewhere and people could enjoy it, and (3) maybe I’d have a few people coming back to me going, “Hey, great job”.
But I found myself limited by what I was writing and stopped doing it a few years ago. And I thought I was finished with all that–
Until someone paid me money for a series of stories I did back about 2006. Paid me so they could illustrate them.
And the funny thing is–now I see that some of what I did write was particularly good. Good enough to publish.
Which leads to an interesting conundrum–
Recently I’ve finished an erotic story that I’m in the process of editing for submission to . . . well, somewhere. And that seems to have gotten the imagination going, for while I have a NaNo novel to crank out and a couple of works in progress behind that, I have this idea for a story that is something of an paranormal erotic fantasy that’s sitting on the fence that used to be my fetish fiction. And while I know I might not be able to publish this work should I ever write it, the ideas I have about it–they draw me in; they want me to make this real.
And trust me: there are a few scenes in my head that really get out there. There are a couple of imagines I have of the couple in my story, and the one that’s sticking with me today is of the woman in my story who starting out feeling unusual things beginning to happen–like her breasts and clitoris swelling–and it ends with her found passed out on the bedroom floor after masturbating herself into a dozen orgasms, literally sticking to the carpet due to her flowing “essence”, so to speak.
It’s erotic, it’s fantasy . . . it’s pretty much fanfic that I maybe, possibly, might be able to sell. Or not.
But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to write it. If not for me, for the few people I do know who will enjoy it.
And, deep down, that’s what we in the writing game all want.