WTF? Friday

Welcome to a new feature on Reading Writing Rachel entitled, "WTF? Friday" wherein I discuss certain things that make me say...you guessed it...WTF?

Today's WTF? comes to you courtesy of my closet. See, I was doing some cleaning in preparation for Christmas madness, when something shiny caught my eye. Something...velvety. Something that looked like THIS:


That's right, folks. It is a wine-colored, crushed velvet TURTLENECK DRESS. And do you know where I first and last wore it? To a Homecoming Dance.

IN 1997!!

Now, it's not just the fact that I still have this dress, even though it is seriously, seriously dated. I mean, can't you just see one of the girls from Buffy or Dawson's Creek in this nonsense? (Bonus Late 90s Points: I wore it with big, clonking Minnie Mouse-esque high heels. CLASSY!)

No, what is disturbing about finding this dress in the closet is that the fact that it IS in my closet means the following chain of events happened over the past eleven years.

1997: I wear dress, look fierce.

1998: I move to Auburn for college; dress comes, too.

1999: I move from dorm to trailer (don't ask.); dress comes, too.

2001: I move from trailer to The (The Futures) Husband's apartment; dress comes, too.

2002: We move from Auburn to Hunstville; dress comes, too.

2005: We move from apartment to house; dress comes, too.

2008: We move from Huntsville back to Auburn; DRESS COMES, TOO.

Now, bear in mind, I have not worn this dress since 1997. So WHY have I insisted on carting it all over the state with me? And hanging it up on a nice hanger, no less? Why I have I not noticed it until now?

WTF?

Wait, Harry Potter Did WHAT With Snape?!

Roughly a bajillion years ago, I promised you my thoughts on fanfiction, and then promptly forgot about it. But when The Husband and I were watching Prince Caspian, he made the comment, "Man, I bet there is some seriously f*&%ed up fanfiction about this movie." Not only did that spark my interest in finding awesomely wrong Prince Caspian fanfiction (there isn't any that I could find, sadly, although there ARE some super-messed up Lucy/Mr. Tumnus stories. Yeah, the little girl. And the dude with goat legs. Although in those stories, Lucy is like 18, so I guess it's okay. Except not), but it made me remember all the stuff I wanted to say about the wonderful, wacky, and occasionally X-rated world of fanfiction.

Back when I was on submission, I did a Google search of my name because I knew the editors that had my manuscript would be doing the same (Sidenote of Writerly Advice: This is why submission is like Fight Club; the first rule of being on submission is that you DO NOT TALK about being on submission. You can say your book is out there, but don't say how many people have it or, God forbid, WHO has it. Book deals have fallen apart over that kind of thing. Fer serious.)

One of the first hits I got for "Rachel Hawkins" was a fanfic writer who has stuff at Fanfiction.net, and I have to be honest, my first thought was, "Oh, no! People will think I write fanfic!"
And then I had to stop for a minute and wonder why that thought horrified me so much. After all, I have written fanfic, way back in the day, and not under my actual name, and in a fandom so obscure, I'm not sure it can even be called a fandom. (And no, you probably won't be able to find it, even if you did some serious digging, although I'm sure it's still floating around the internet. Nothing ever dies in Internetlandia!)

This got me thinking about how I really real about fanfic. I think I was embarrassed that publisher people might think I was a fnafic writer because so much of fanfic is A)poorly written, or B) straight-up porn, or C)both. But I have to admit there is some really good stuff out there, even in the fandoms I don't particularly get.


That's right. In some alternate universe, these 3 are totally Doing It.

So this leads me to how I feel about fanfiction as a writer. There are several writers who don't allow FF of their work, most famously Anne Rice. George R.R. Martin also asks that his fans hold off on the fanfiction, at least until his series in finished. And I think those requests should be respected. If an author says you can't play in his/her sandbox, then find somewhere else to play. Then there are authors who started out as fanfiction writers, like Cassandra Clare, and Meljean Brook.

As for me, if someone ever wanted to write Demonglass fanfiction, I'd be totally down with it. I think it would be awesome to have someone respond creatively to my work. I wouldn't read it, though, because I think that's where you can end up in slippery slope territory. Let's say a reader sends me a story where Sophie, my main character, befriends a unicorn who turns out to eat brains, thus becoming the world's first Zombie/Unicorn hybrid. But I've already written a Zombie/Unicorn hybrid- a Zomicorn, if you will- into Book 2! Book 2 comes out, and the reader is all, "OMGWTFBBQ? Bitch, you stole my idea!" And then there are Legal Issues that no one wants to deal with.

And of course, I'm totally against the idea of people trying to get fanfiction published. Come on, now.

But so long as the fanfic writer doesn't seek to profit from his or her stories, I think it's all in good fun. Fanfiction is an awesome place to work on your writing skills because it's like riding a bike with training wheels. You get to play around with story and dialogue and not worry too much about setting or character. It's also a good way to build up a readership and start dealing with critiques, because God knows the "feedback" is flyin' in the Fanfiction world! (Say THAT 3 times fast!)

And hey, you can also get your weird sexual issues out if you feel like it! Everybody wins!


These two? Alternate universe where she is not, like, 7? Totally Doing It.

That said, if you're serious about becoming a professional writer, there comes a time to put your Pretend Edward Cullens and Fake Frodo Baggins away, and start building your own universe. But fanfic is still a fun way to rev up the creative engines.

So how many of you have read/written fanfiction? How do those of you who are writers feel about it?

Books A Million- 3, Me- 0

And so my war with our local Books A Million continues. Okay, so they don't know we're at war, but whatever. We SO are.

I believe I mentioned that I had to refrain from purchasing Lauren Myracle's Bliss a few weeks ago because the book was out on the BAM shelves before it's release date, and if you love an author, you wait until his/her release date to buy the book.

So I waited until last Tuesday, 9/23, to go buy the book.

It was not there.

I went up to the counter and asked the (admittedly super nice) lady there if they had it in the back or something.

She looks it up on the computer and says that no, they do not have it. Our conversation went something like this:

Me: But you had it last week.

Her: Nope. In fact, it says we're not going to stock that particular title.

Me: But she's a New York Times Bestselling author. And you have every other book she's ever written in stock. Oh, and also, you had Bliss here last week!

Her: The computer says we've never had it, and we're never going to get it.

Me: Your computer is a lying liar who lies.

Her: ... Um, you could order it.

Me: Fine.

Her: It'll be here by October 15.

Me: Awesome.

So I slumped out of the store, sadly bookless.

Cut to today, when I return to Books A Million to purchase the new Neil Gaiman.

It was not there.

I decided that I'd go up to the front and see if Bliss had by any chance come in early since I was already in the bookstore and all. And on my way to the cashier, what do I see?

AND ENTIRE DISPLAY TABLE OF BLISS! You know, the book they were never, ever going to carry, not in a million years, must order it, and then wait a month.

So I snatched up a copy. I guess when the copy they ordered comes in, they can just stick it on the table with the other thirty or so copies they had.

And let me just say, in the weeks before Demonglass comes out, lo, many years hence (January 2010! Tell your friends!) I will be stalking that store like a ninja.

You have won several battles, Books A Million. But I? I shall win the war.

Um... really, Books-A-Million?

Short blog today, as I am fighting a sinus infection that makes me want to die (not to mention, I have a rule about not blogging while taking prescription meds, even if they are just anitbiotics and Allegra. Never can be too careful! ;) ), but this required immediate attention.

On Friday, after visiting the doctor due to said sinus infection, I stoppped by our local Books-A-Million to buy myself a "Get Well Soon" present. Hey, if you don't be nice to you, who will, I ask? So I was perusing the shelves, and came across a "Summer Reading" display with a little tag that said, "Great Books For The Beach!"

Overlooking that summer is nearly over- well, in the rest of the country at least. Here in the Dirty Souf, it'll be hot until Christmas- the books displayed were all basically what I'd consider great beach reading: Jackie Collins, Emily Giffin, Jane Green, etc. In other words, books that were fun and didn't require a thesaurus or huge amounts of brain power (not a putdown, BTW. The chief thing a book should do is entertain, in my opinion. If it entertains you, then it was good. End of story.)

So as I'm looking at the fun, light reading, I notice that amongst all this feel-good, brightly colored brain candy is...Toni Morrison's Beloved.

Um... seriously? Beloved? Beach reading?

I even picked it up to see if it got there by mistake, but no, there were lots more copies behind it. Now, for those of you that don't know, Beloved is the story of an former slave named Sethe who is haunted by the adult manifestation of the baby she murdered decades before so that that baby- Beloved- wouldn't have to go back into the slavery that Sethe had escaped. It's strange, and challanging, and heart-wrenching, and, you know, NOT what I want to be reading while trying to get my beer/beach buzz on!

So I started wondering why it was there. I mean, everyone should read Beloved. It's truly a masterpiece, a Pulitzer prize winner, and a book that stays with you pretty much forever. But beach reading? No. I mean, unless you like crying and asking yourself important questions about life at the beach, which I certainly do not!

I guess it's the Oprah connection. Maybe the people at BAM just assumed, "Hey, wasn't this an Oprah book/movie? Then let's put it here with all these hot pink books!"

And if that's true, then that's just... kind of sad.

So again, I ask, "Um...really, Books-A-Million?"

And now I'm off to mainline more penicillin.

See y'all next week!

Camp Winna- What The F&%k

Hi, all!

So I've been very busy over the past few days, visiting the fam down in "The Dirty Souf," preparing to run up to Nashville to see my friend Tiff's GORGEOUS new baby, and getting all my stuff ready for this, a trip that is always the highlight of my year!

However, before I leave to get my beach on, I had to share a little summertime memory with all of you. A former student of The Husband's is spending this summer acting as a camp counselor, and this led to a discussion between me and The Husband about camp, namely whether we'd ever been. The Husband has never been to camp, spending his summers riding around town on his bike, getting free lunch from the school cafeteria (in the summer! Who knew some schools did this? Not me!), and... I don't know, throwing bricks or whatever other shenanigans young boys get into.

But me? Oh, yeah, I went to camp. A little camp we shall call Camp Winna-WTF?, AKA THE MOST INSANE PLACE EVER.

Now, first of all, let me say that I have no idea what posessed my parents to send me to camp in the first place. Granted, it was only for a week and not an entire summer, but still. I was not exactly a "camp-y" kid. Even at the age of 8, my likes and dislikes were pretty firmly defined. A helpful chart:

LIKES
Reading
Not being hot
Peeing inside
Showering
Being left all the hell alone

DISLIKES
Arts and Crafts
Canoes
Horses
Being hot
Forced social interaction


So, yeah, camp and me? Not a great fit.

On the upside, I did spend that week reading The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe twice, and Anne of Green Gables once, thus earning myself the nickname, "That Freaky Girl Who Reads A Lot And Also Cries Because She Is Hot."

So it wasn't a total bust.

Anyway, I was telling The Husband all of this and he was laughing at me (a regular occurence), and then I got to the story of what happened the last night of camp, and his laughter slowly began to fade as the look of amusement gave way to one of horror, followed by total silence that was finally broken by him saying, "Uh....Rachel? That's f&%@ed up."

And dear readers, it was. In fact, I didn't really realize HOW weird it was until I was telling The Husband. I mean, when you're 8, life is still kind of weird and new, so you tend to be a little more open to things like the insanity that happened that last night at camp.

Here's what went down:

That last night, we lined up and walked down to the little stone amphitheatre where we watched a totally weird play about the Holy Grail.

Yeah.

So after we watched said weird play (which honestly I don't remember that much about other than my cabin's counselors were in it. It was the pretty standard, "Galahad finds the Grail, ascends to heaven" thing), we were told we had to be silent for the rest of the night. Then we were given little white candles wrapped in tin foil. This is where the not talking part got hard, as it's really difficult to hold back squeaks of pain while hot wax is drippping down your hand.

So we made our silent, candlelit vigil back towards to bridge which connected the cabin ares with the rest of the camp, only to find that bridge...

ON F&$@ING FIRE!

Apparently, when Galahad ascended to Heaven, he did so on a flaming bridge, so every year after The Best Little Grail Hunt in Alabama play, Camp Winna-WTF? burned a big honking hole in the bridge all symbolically or something.

You know, because if there's one thing little 8 year old girls appreciate, it's highly symbolic religious acts.

To cross the bridge, we had to go one at time, riding piggyback on the only boy counselors at Camp Winna-WTF? (Yeah. I know.)

The bridge was really high and over rushing water, but I couldn't really see anything due to the smoke, flames, and hysterical blindness I was experiencing due to the mind numbing terror.

I have this super clear memory of burying my face in the back of some creepy 16 year old boy as I breathed in smoke, nearly peeing myself with fear when he JUMPED OVER THE BIG HONKING HOLE. Looking back, there probably wasn't an ACTUAL hole, but at 8, I totally believed that I was about to die.

Now, I know as you're all reading this, you are thinking, "Rachel, I love you, but there is no way in hell that at summer camp, you were forced to watch a Grail play, participate in a mute, candlelight vigil, and then carried across a burning bridge. I know you make your living as a fiction writer, but this time you have gone too far!"

To which I say, "Fair point."

Except, CHECK THIS OUT, SUCKERS!!

That's right. Not only does this shit really happen, they are proud of it. They have a whole section devoted to it on their website! (Sidenote: The Husband just looked at that section and said sagely, "Well, at least they have all their freaky shit right out there in the open." Hee hee!)

Jesus. Is it any wonder I never went to camp again?

(Sidenote #2: I just noticed that the Camp Winna-WTF website says they have an "Asthma Camp" called "Camp Wheezeaway." I'll just...snort... go and uh... giggle... reserve my seat in hell... wipes tears...um...now.