It’s fine to have an opinion.  Not everyone likes chocolate ice cream.  But why is the reason ‘I don’t like it’ a reason to turn others away from it, especially when our argument becomes ‘Ice cream is bad!’

Not only is there an obvious difference in having an opinion and hating an entire kind of food, but it’s a logical fallacy you’ve been taught since elementary school, if not kindergarten.  Your opinion does not mean right or wrong, reason does—and it applies to you as well.  If you can tell someone that one type of writing is bad and that is how the universe works, it means they have the same right otherwise your argument dissolves into a selfish tantrum.

There is no objective reason to hate all fanfiction; those who do not use their imagination or the rules they learned about writing will write poorly whether they write something original or a fan story.  Publishing and being popular cannot be the end-all-be-all to writing hobbies and careers, as that would mean Twilight and Eragon are the epitomes of good writing.

Again, taste is subjective and perfectly fine to have, but to say that yours determines the rules of an entire art medium does not only show that you do not understand logic, but ethics as well.  There is no reason to read fanfiction you are not interested in, even if that includes all of it. No one will force you b gunpoint to read fanfiction, just as no one will threaten to kill your lover to eat ice cream.

There’s something about finding out random strangers happen to appreciate a fandom that drives people into rages they’d be arrested for if they were in public.  Here’s a news flash that shouldn’t have to be news: throwing a temper tantrum and insulting people does not make you smart or a better person.  Being smart and acting like a better person does.

Basics

Don’t let the basics of writing slip you by, especially when your rage is directed at something as silly as a show or book.  No one is even going to read what you write if you can’t prove you’ve passed kindergarten with the way you type.  Yes, people make mistakes, but intentionally writing like you’re three will just tell people to treat you as if you’re three.

You don’t like it is not enough

For some reason, it’s an easy thing to forget that just because you don’t like something, it’s not a reason to force others not to like it.  You’d easily say that someone who hates someone for their orientation, sex, gender, skin color, religion, or national origin should be called a jackass.  Yet, when you demean someone for something even more petty, you forget that doing so makes you even more of a jackass.

If you think that ‘because I don’t like it’ is a reason something should not exist, then someone else has the same right to believe what they don’t like should not exist.  Imagine a stranger coming into your home and changing your TV channel and saying ‘ don’t like that, so you shouldn’t watch it.’  You’ve justified that kind of behavior by demanding your opinions are the only right ones

Be objective and give proof

If you want to show that something is wrong with a show or story, you don’t just need a reason, you need to back it up.  You need facts to prove your statements.  People miss things, people don’t notice them, people don’t learn them, people forget things, people confuse things, etc.  But they won’t believe that happened unless you provide proof

You also need to approach things in an unbiased manner.  They are going to like fandom no matter what.  What endears is to them will stick with them no matter what you say.  Just as it’s easy to doubt a statement without facts to back it up, it’s easy to doubt facts if they are used to back up something biased. 

Use real logic

 Don’t let yourself fall victim to idiocy that looks like common sense and intelligence.  Be careful about logical fallacies.  Anyone with half a brain can figure these out and when they are spotted, they destroy the credibility of everything you say.

The reason they work is because they twist words to look like they make sense at first.  Take for instance, a hasty generalization.  You say that all fanfiction is bad and list reasons.  Someone you complain to notices there is at least one fanfiction in existence that does not qualify.  They wonder why they should believe anything you say if your list of reasons is now a complete lie.

Don’t evade

Don’t pretend questions asked or statements made by others has no merit due to the fandom they like.  It is not mature, it is cowardly.  If you are trying to convince someone of something, you are trying to educate.  A teacher answers questions.  They point out the answer with reasons why it’s the answer.  They point out flaws in statements and say why they are flaws.

How much would you trust a teacher that never answered a question you had?  Perhaps their wording was strange, perhaps you were confused, perhaps you didn’t quite get it yet.  Would you think they are good at teaching if they never helped?

Do your research

            As bad or unintelligent as you may think a fandom is, there will always be a smart fan. People are often smart in different areas of intelligence.  For instance, many people can use intelligence to analyze stories and explain why they are bad, but are not smart enough to type properly.

If you think something is wrong, make sure it is first.  One example I’ve encountered many times is about applying science to the supernatural undead.  A fresh male corpse has the possibility of impregnating a living female; similarly, female corpses have been known to give birth to live babies.  Added to those, most myths of supernatural undead beings involve their virility and fertility. These facts don’t show that a fandom is good or bad, merely that they can prove an argument right or wrong.

However, if your argument is wrong, you are not going to look intelligent—especially in the age of google.  You are going to look like someone kicking and screaming and might as well be doing so about the sun going around the earth.

Guilty pleasures

Opinions and facts are very different things.  You can prove things with facts.  Facts require knowledge. You can’t prove something with an opinion.  Opinions don’t require knowledge. These are very separate things.

Just because they are separate concepts does not mean they can’t apply to the same thing.  No matter how smart you are, you can still laugh at a cat and poor spelling. You don’t have to like everything because of facts. In fact, you don’t like things because of facts, you like them because of your opinions.  Knowing more about something doesn’t change your opinion, it’s your opinion about those facts that add up.

In the Star Wars original movies, the story tends to downplay feminism.  Leia abandons helping an entire galaxy’s safety and rights to rescue her loves.  Knowing that doesn’t change your opinion; your opinion on how feminism is portrayed either outweighs your opinion on the rest of the movie or it doesn’t.

Give fans the chance to still like the fandom you hate.  Educate them and let them appreciate it. They can know everything objectively wrong about it and still like it; they can still look at something the way one looks at cat with poor writing. 

Be polite

            No matter what you can prove, no one will care if you’re mean about it.  Consider what you’re being mean about: a TV show, a movie, a comic book, a prose book, a series or mix of them.  You are not fighting to aid cancer victims; you are fighting to point out something wrong in fiction.

Even if you are angry, don’t be.  No matter how important it is to you, your goal is not to piss someone else off.  It is to communicate.  If you ware walking by and mention a fandom you like, are you going to bother listening to the stranger who turns around and screams obscenities at you, or the one who is polite about butting in and mentioning something?

Even if they are a jackass, you still look like a jackass for stooping to their level.  Other people can see your argument.  You aren’t going to look any smarter with your obscenities, insults, or cruelty. You will look intelligent telling others in a calm, polite, and intelligent manner. 

Have a sense of humor

Laugh at fandoms, whether you like them or not.  Enjoy flaws in ones you like, in ones you don’t.  Enjoy the awesome parts of both.  Don’t stew in hatred.  Sit back, relax, point something out, and enjoy life.  Don’t let it pass you by and make sure to find humor in things.

Humor is a wonderful tool for communication.  It exaggerates, is mocks, it twists, and it is there for the enjoyment of both those who do and do not like a fandom.  It is a bridge between you and those you are communicating with.  Use it to your advantage, don’t burn it and curse when you’re hurt or ignored by it.

There was a letter written to someone, somewhere, once. It may have read, in part:

“Dear [REDACTED 11],

I’m sorry I have to write you this way. I’m not trying to be a coward, or show disrespect to our relationship, but this is the only way I can clearly say what I need to say. If I try to say it to you in person I’ll be reduced to whimpering and crying, and nothing will be said. At least this way I can bring you into my thoughts while whimpering and crying. Consider this me multitasking.

I’ve never loved someone like I love you. The thought of not having you by my side until the second I die doesn’t just break my heart, it doesn’t only make me sick to my stomach, it burns my eyes, it tightens every muscle in my body, it forces my brain and my heart to beat against their cages to be released so they can run into the woods and die honorably, alone. But I’ve realized that perhaps we can’t be together. We’re not destined for each other. Not that I believe in destiny, anyway.

The problem we face is insurmountable. I can never complete you, because in order for me to complete you I’d have to lie to you. I’ll never believe in God. I’m not built for that. In order to have the life you’ve always imagined yourself having, you need someone that shares those beliefs with you. In a lot of ways, that’s the most important thing you look for in the person you’re going to spend the rest of your life with. I’m not him. I can’t be him. And there’s no possible way I can ever communicate how much I regret that. Because I love you with every piece of me. I really, really do.

We can’t change for one another. It’s not in us. It wouldn’t be fair to either of us. And to ignore the problem would cause it to fester. I can give you the world and it wouldn’t be enough. Please don’t take that as a bad thing. I’m not placing blame, I’m trying to speak truth. Regardless of what I can give you in the life we build, I can never return your faith. I can never sit in church with you on Sunday and not be lying. Because of this, even if I’m holding you and kissing you and telling you how much I love you, and what an amazing life I’ve had because of you, while you lie on your deathbed you’ll know that you’re going to die alone. I won’t be joining you in eternity. That’s always going to be in the back of your mind. The mortal life is enough for me. I’m not built for heaven. You are.

I don’t think that’s fair. It’s not fair to you to only ever be 90% complete. And it’s not fair for me to be constantly competing with God. It’s not a fight I can win. It’s not a fight I want to win. I guess this is me forfeiting, then.

It will always be in my imagination the life we could have led together if only there was room for compromise. How beautiful we would be together. How inspiring our story would be. How wasteful our differences are.

Goodbye, darling. I hope we can both find what we’ve had again. I have no choice but to believe we will.”

And someone, somewhere, never read that letter.

“Dear [REDACTED 10],

I know. I know. I know. Times infinity. I fucked up. I made the cliché the reality. I wait breathlessly for nothing to happen. I’ve been waiting for someone to come change me, but what if the real miracle, or magic, or possibly even love, was finding someone that didn’t want me to change? What if I’m too fucking stupid to see that?

I’d destroy this wall with my fists if it did anything but hurt me. Yet, I’d still wake up alone.

How many great loves are we allotted again? I think I may have used my last one up on you without even realizing it. Because I did love you – no, I do love you – even if I told you so many times that I didn’t. I just couldn’t see that I did with the noise in my head. It took you finding someone else to love you that made me realize it, and I’m sorry.

Do you think that before we’re made to atone for our sins we’re given a chance to explain them? Why we stole, why we hurt, why we fucked – there is a reason behind it all, isn’t there? God… I was so surprised to find out just how deeply I feel for you. As much as moments like that are terribly traumatizing, they’re also strangely exhilarating. They teach you things about yourself.

I think that if we were able to explain our sins they wouldn’t seem so bad. Then maybe we’d each have a chance at the pureness we started with. Before the mistakes piled up, I mean. Because they do pile up. Often the same ones, over and over and over and over… Until you get sick of them. I made a lot of the same mistakes over and over again with you, and you always let me. Why did you let me?

I know you’re happy now, and I can’t interfere with that even though you’d be even happier with me. I just know that in the morning, when I’ve slept this off, I’ll hate these words. I’ll know that this is for the best and that my loss is his gain. At least now I won’t be able to hurt you anymore.

It seemed like our whole relationship was built from pain. You hurt him, I hurt you, then myself. I deserved it. Good luck baby doll, even though I should keep it for myself. God knows I need it.”

His foot pressed the gas pedal harder. His fingers played with the radio. Why does every radio station (Jack’s going to [I could go for a ham and turkey sub.] have to do push-ups) stop playing music after 5 o’clock? I just (and watch the entire [Maybe I’ll go while Jack’s busy with the lesson.] class. His teacher is such an) want to hear some music (asshole.).

Up ahead a car’s brake lights went on. Several others followed. He looked up and saw the chain of red coming toward his car. Oh shit. Shit shit shit. His foot quickly came off the gas and slammed the brake. Please God. Please stop. The 2008 Ford Explorer’s brakes locked, and the truck slid at 53 MPH.

Both of his hands gripped the steering wheel tightly, turning his knuckles white. I love (What happens [Turn into the next lane, buy some time.] if my seatbelt doesn’t work?) you Sally. I love (Will the airbag break my nose?) you so much. He looked toward the passenger side-view mirror. A red sedan was in the middle lane. A train of traffic.

His eyes widened and his stomach sloshed queasily underneath his shirt. The muscles in his legs tensed. I’ll do anything to (The glass is going [Maybe turn into the guardrail. Limit the damage to yourself…] to cut my throat.) hold Jack again. He pulled the steering wheel to the left. The Explorer’s wheels turned, but the road was slick. It didn’t turn right away, only went straight toward the red lights ahead at 32 MPH. Just give him (Or the seatbelt will choke me to death.) a hug one more time.

He pushed himself deeper into his seat. He opened his mouth and sound waves reverberated from his throat: “Come on you fucking thing, turn!” I never got to say (The impact [I don’t want to die a murderer] will kill us both) goodbye to anyone. Will they miss me? Have I been good enough to them for that? The Explorer caught and turned toward the guardrail at 28 MPH. Good, goodgoodgood. We’re (Maybe I’ll survive this [I won’t hit whoever that is ahead of me…] after all) finally turning. He braced himself for the impact of the guardrail by tensing more, turning his head to his left, and closing his eyes. A 1997 Chevy Blazer came up behind him at 21 MPH.

The Explorer hit the guardrail going 24 MPH. More sound waves escaped his throat: A scream. The windshield cracked but did not break. The bumper hung limply from the truck’s front end. He was thrown forward into the airbag. His hands loosely played around his body. The Explorer bounced back into traffic.  He opened his eyes and looked around.

The Blazer hit the back driver side at 18 MPH. Plastic broke as it slammed into plastic. He again was thrown forward. Sonofabitch. Everything stopped.

He opened his eyes. I’m alive. I need to call Sally. The owner of the Blazer got out of his car and ran toward the Explorer. Other vehicles moved steadily forward. The owner of the Blazer approached the Explorer’s window and looked inside at the man.

He was crying. His muscles spasmed involuntarily. He shook. The owner of the Blazer knocked on the window, tapping quickly. He heard nothing. He saw nothing. He tasted blood from his split lip. His head hurt. I’m alive.

There was a letter written to someone, somewhere, once. It may have read, in part:

“Dear [REDACTED 09],

A cold wind pushed us apart, but I’m hoping the convection currents will allow us to heat up again. I can live in this cycle for the rest of my life, happily, as long as it’s with you. You love my hobbies but sometimes forget they aren’t me. That’s OK, though. I understand it and, if that’s the only way you’re capable of loving me, then I’ll take it.

Do you remember the first time we held hands? The first time we kissed? Made love? I think I do, but it all seems like such a far-away dream at this point. Mountains rising from buildings, and people trimming clouds in their front yard. Beautiful, but nonsensical. That’s how I remember it now.

When you said goodbye to me in that parking lot I knew it would be the last time. I tried to savor the moment – I took still photographs of your hair, eyes, lips, and smile; Recorded your voice and your laugh; I wrote poetry about your movements – All in the hopes that those final few fleeting moments would somehow be immortal.

Of course, they weren’t. How could they be? Even then we were changing. As much as I wanted to steal the sand from our hourglass to hide in my heart and stop time, the grains were too small. They slid right through my fingers and kept falling. I realized then that my memory was all I would have to rely on. It’s a shame memory is so fallible.

You see, eventually my memory of you degraded into dream, and from dream into fantasy, and from fantasy into ideal. My memory of you became almost political, or religious. Remember when we rode bikes to that beautiful church by my apartment? Me neither.

The point is: I was never mad. I know you probably thought I was, and I probably let you believe it. But I wasn’t. You know this already, but it can be very hard to understand the future. Because I saw it, sweetheart, and I didn’t like it. Of all the possible futures that could have been mine, the one without you in it was the one I wanted to avoid. Yet, in my avoidance I actually brought it to fruition. No one has to live with that but me. When it started to come true I panicked. In my mind there was no other option. I was scrambling to find a solution that was never there.

[REDACTED 09], you’ve made me want to burn every piece of paper you’ve inspired me to write. Destroy every happy ending I wish we could have had. And yet, if this were one of my stories you love so much I would have found the solution and our hands would be interlocked as we sleep once again. Unfortunately this isn’t a story, and a solution doesn’t seem possible. Which is exactly why I’m writing. Maybe the answer lies in this complicated equation of words. Either way, I wanted to let you know I haven’t stopped looking and I don’t believe I ever will. Hopefully, one day I’ll be able to make you understand why.”

And someone, somewhere, never read that letter.

Just because you don’t write doesn’t mean you don’t need to know the basics about writing.  If you’re going to be working with a writer, you need to know what to look out for from them and how to tell them when the slip up.  But more importantly, if you’re going to be working with a writer–technical, nonfiction, fantasy, script, whatever—you need to learn to respect them in order to keep doing what you’re doing.

For those of you who think writing is easy, it is.  For those of you who think writing professionally is easy, you’re not going to get far.

Most people consider the visual parts of a story to be not only the most important, but the writing to be unnecessary.  This may surprise you, and it should, as the main ingredient in telling a story, is the story.

All good stories rely on the execution.  Audiences need to know why a princess needs to be rescued, why no one else in the story should rescue her, and why they should care in the first place.  Good writing changes a summary into either something interesting and bad writing makes us wish for something better.  God art just goes hand-in-hand in good writing; it does not replace it or do the same job.

Just because your art is considered spectacular, with hair flying everywhere, each strand delicately inked and beautifully colored, you’re still just going to be making a shampoo commercial without a good writer.

Many (amateur) artists wonder why getting into an industry is so hard, when the writing seems so obviously bad. One person even said ‘All [comic] writers do is copy lame manga scripts over and over again.  The artist does the real work.’ There’s a reason people like this have a hard time getting into an industry and staying there and why they shouldn’t: they don’t know how an industry works.

No matter how much social networking was used to get their job, all writers have had to have a resume behind them to get where they are.  They needed a solid education, and many samples of writing in different genres and formats to show what the can do.  What will do, however, is usually write what someone else wants.  A writer is not hired to write what they want, when they want, and demand it be made.

A writer, just like an artist, is hired to make what they are told to. Different jobs can have different margins of creativity, but if there is a demand for ‘copies of lame manga’ then writers will be told to do it, whether they want to or not.

Artists that somehow adamantly want to remain amateurs wonder why a writer would do such a thing in the first place.  Probably to pay rent, the same reason an artist (illustrator, inker, letterer, cinematographer, choreographer…) needs to as well.  It’s a way to stay alive and in employment until something you like comes along.  Those aren’t common.

It is true that there have been arguments between writers and artists.  These things happen.  But neither person, based solely on their job, deserves more or less respect than the other.  To make a move, everyone needs to make a story be a story.  Without the visuals, the story, no matter how well written, won’t be told. We need lighting to see; actors to convey actions, thoughts and emotions; choreographers to keep us interested in how people move and what the movements convey, and thousands of other people working together.  Assuming you’re more important is the role of someone who should keep their hands off the set and thus ignored by the real workers.

This is how it goes. This is how it looks. These are my words. I hope you enjoy.

If i go insane will you come with me? If i lost it all would you help me look? When my boots blow out would you mourn them with me?

I don’t wanna, I wont, and i refuse, i wont bend, and i wont break, I ain’t got a thing for you to take, you cant hurt a man with nothin, not even if you try

If i was a poet

if i were better with words

id write for you

if i were a mechanic

or better with my hands

id fix things for you

if i were a musician

and better with the frets

id sing for you

if i were a thatcher

id make a roof…

just to shelter you

If i was an artist

or just better with paint

id sketch your days away.

I been called a jerk, a fucker, a bastard and worse, been kicked out, thrown out and asked to leave, banned, shoved, I been down, I been out, haven’t been worse off, ‘cept for that time they locked me up,  been beaten, knocked around, tumbled and thumped, been broke in more ways than one, been alone, solitary, single, solo, been lots of places, never been to one quite like yours, damn glad I got to go there.

thanks Molly.

if i was a pearl i’d feel itchy scratchy stuck inside an oyster shell if i was a tree i’d  be a big fat redwood fantasizing about Julia Butterfly Hill living and peeing around me if i was a dog i’d be a Catahoula hound if i was Italian i’d be Sicilian if i was pasta i’d be spaghetti if i was Icelandic i’d be Bjork if i was a rock star i’d be Elvis Presley Bob Dylan Jimi Hendrix Jim Morrison John Lennon Bruce Spingsteen Maynard James Keenan if i was i writer i’d be Herman Melville Mark Twain James Joyce William Faulkner Thomas Bernhard Yukio Mishima Naguib Mahfouz Phillip K. Dick Gabriel Garcia Marquez Annie Proulx Lydia Davis if i was a poet i’d be Walt Whitman Sylvia Plath Ted Hughes Gwendolyn Brooks Pablo Neruda Heather McHugh Carl Sandburg Robert Frost Arthur Rimbaud Dante Alighieri Homer if i was a painter i’d be Leonardo Da Vinci Michelangelo da Caravaggio Johan Vermeer Rembrandt van Rijn Paul Cezanne Marcel Duchamp Jackson Pollock Mark Rothko Ad Reinhardt Anselm Kiefer Susan Rothenberg if i was a photographer i’d be Man Ray Ansel Adams Edward Weston Diane Arbus Robert Mapplethorpe Sally Mann Helmut Newton Richard Avedon Annie Leibovitz if i was a philosopher i’d be Socrates Plato Aristotle Jean Jacques Rousseau Sören Kierkegaard Immanuel Kant Karl Marx Georg Hegel Friedrich Nietzsche Henry David Thoreau Ralph Waldo Emerson Jean-Paul Sartre Jean Baudrillard Michel Foucault if i was a singer i’d be Woody Guthrie Otis Redding Grace Slick Bob Marley Joni Mitchell Marvin Gaye Johnny Cash Patsy Cline June Carter Patti Smith Chrissie Hinde Nick Cave P J Harvey Beyonce if i wa a band i’d be Velvet Underground Ramones Sex Pistols Clash Cure Smiths Joy Division Uncle Tupelo Pixies Nirvana Nine Inch Nails Madrugada Sigur Ros White Stripes Thee Silver Mt. Zion Memorial Orchestra Justice of the Unicorns if i was a boot i’d be Chippewa Frye Ariat Red Wing Tony Lama Wellington if i was a shoe i’d be Christian Louboutin Jimmy Choo Kedds Chaco Chuck Taylor p f flyer if i was a dress i’d be Channel Dolce & Gabbanna Giorgio Armani Marc Jacobs Comme des Garçons if i was a cowboy shirt i’d be H bar C Rockmount Temp Tex Karman Wrangler Levis Strauss Lee if i was a hat i’d be a Stetson Borsalino Stephen Jones if i was a fruit i’d be a mango apple banana blackberry if i was an scent i’d smell like fresh perspiration jasmine sandalwood ylang ylang the ocean if i was a doctor i’d be a gynecologist neurosurgeon if i was a flower i’d be a hibiscus rose orchard if i was a stone i’d be a sparkling ruby diamond opal if i was a knife i’d be a k-bar switch-blade machete if i was a gun i’d be a Remington Winchester Beretta Glock AK-47 if i was a car i’d be a Lamborghini Ferrari BMW Saab Volkswagen GTO Ford Mustang Dodge Challenger if i was a  TV show i’d be Law and Order if i was actor i’d be Charlie Chaplin Humphrey Bogart Steve McQueen Robert De Niro Ed Norton Shawn Penn if i was an actress i’d be Marlene Dietrich Ingrid Bergman Natalie Wood Audrey Hepburn Marilyn Monroe Helen Mirren Meryil Streep Brigette Fonda Robin Wright Julianne Moore Angie Harmon if i was a female comedian i’d be Gilda Radner Lily Tomlin Nora Dunn Joan Cusack Sarah Silverman Tina Fey if i was a  football player i’d be Sid Luckman George Blanda Walter Payton Dick Butkus Mike Singletary Joe Montana Jerry Rice Payton Manning LaDanian Tomlinson Drew Breeze if i was a celebrity i’d be Charlotte Gainsbourg if i was a rapper i’d be Tupac Shakur if i was a movie director i’d be Sam Peckinpah Robert Altman Stanley Kubrick Roman Polanski Werner Herzog Rainer Fassbinder Louis Bunuel Alfred Hitchcock Jean-Luc Godard François Truffaut if i was a bird i’d be a eagle hawk sparrow bluebird if i was a fish i’d be a dolphin shark narwhal Charlie the tuna if i was breakfast i’d be a French toast pancake folded in half with 2 strips of bacon in between if i was a cold cereal i’d be snap crackle popping rice crispies shredded wheat cheerios oatmeal if i was tea i’d be Japanese green matcha Irish breakfast Tulsi Thai holy basil Lapsang souchong Luzianne Lipton if i was a soap i’d be French hand milled ayurvedic Avon Ivory Dove Pears Aveda  if i was a man i’d be a football basketball baseball tennis swimmer athlete if i was a woman i’d be a track star runner writer painter gardener doctor nurse yoga mom i’m just scratching the surface and the beat goes on lahdy dah dah