|
Current 'panther' friend
|
Three stories. First, the everything-but-dinosaurs-and-aliens
story. It had it all: a castle, a princess fighting to save the kingdom,
pirates, and a black Jaguar named Scott. Oh, and sword fights. Did I mention
the sword fights? Lots of sword fights. I don't know that it had terrific
narrative flow. Or even a plot. But I was 12. So that book covered ALL the cringe. That
young Princess was a fencing prodigy, a horseback riding prodigy, and the black
Jaguar was, naturally, her best friend. Of course, her father's Kingdom is under
threat from within and from without as the pirates are raiding the town below the castle. Our heroine can't
immediately address the internal threats, but she can keep the pirates from harming her friends in town. In the course of trying and failing to fight the pirates, she
makes things worse by getting kidnapped by them and held for ransom. This is
ransom no one is going to pay. See the aforementioned internal threat. It's
all fine, because naturally, the pirate captain falls for her. I mean why
wouldn't he? So now, insert redemption arc for pirates who are going to help
her bedevil the internal threat and reclaim the Kingdom. Much swashbuckling,
big Goonies energy, tons of fun. Totally reads like I was 12. This one is
buried deep and so it will stay.
Second, fanfic. ALL the fanfic. Scads of it. All tucked
safely into archives where it can’t get me into trouble for writing inside
someone else’s IP. Was it cringe? Maybe. It was 100% self-insert into worlds
that fascinated me, but at the time I was writing fanfic, AO3 didn’t exist. I
could write whatever I wanted with the knowledge that none of it could be
published, ever.
Unless.
It finally occurred to me one day that one could pub fanfic
if no one knew it was fanfic. If I could change names and alter the world enough
to be its own thing, I might have a viable product. And that’s how I found out
it was far easier (and just as much fun) to build your own world and your
own characters.
Third, the contemporary romance novel that lacked a single
shred of internal conflict. I had a great time writing it. It was my attempt to
prove that you could in fact write a rock star romance and make it work.
Except, you know, for the fact that I didn't. It was supposed to have one of those
'annoying big brother' books. Curmudgeon and ray of sunshine things. The heroine is there out of necessity, in a position the
hero doesn't want her in, but his meddling sister is intent on setting the two
of them up. It was big on bickering, low on actual conflict, and it was a hoot
to write. It still lives in a box under the bed. It is likely to remain in that
box under the bed. I look back at it now recognize a slew of problematic tropes.
There's nothing wrong with the heroine trying to prove herself. This story took
it wicked too far. This heroine ends up a martyr. The power dynamic between hero
and heroine was super dysfunctional. Granted, at the time I wrote it, I had some
crappy relationship templates and what was ‘normal’ for me at that point wasn’t,
in fact, normal. So yeah. I credit this book with being the one that started me
on the journey of actually learning and understanding what makes a romance a
romance. The story is okay. But reading
it now, I flinch at all the stuff I see that’s wrong. I’m careful not to judge
past me by what current me knows. But still. This book, while it holds
together, won’t likely see the light of day, ever.
While I can freely admit that my early efforts at fiction
might not meet the bar for publication, I want to say that when I use the word ‘cringe’
in this blog, it’s with a fond smile. Cringe is one of those words that has been
swept up by society to judge and make fun of something. I don’t want to judge
or make fun of someone learning how story works. Not even – or maybe especially
not even – when it’s me. We’re allowed to be bad at something we love or are
fascinated by. We’re allowed a visible learning curve. There’s art and grace in
developing as an artist. The thing that gets lost when we talk about the lack
of skill in our early efforts is just how vital and necessary those early
efforts were to our survival. These stories I talked about will never be thrown
away or deleted. They got me through times I didn’t think I could get through.
If our early story efforts are called cringe because we get sexist BS terms
tossed at us like ‘Mary Sue’, as if every action movie ever made isn’t some
dude’s 14-year-old self-insert fantasy. There’s a fine line between acknowledging
that our early works weren’t ready for prime-time and disparaging ourselves as
creatives. I bet that if someone could find the first painting Picasso ever did
as a child, it could reasonably be called cringe. It would also likely fetch
millions on auction.