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thatonebirdwrites · 7 months

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Thoughts about fandoms and Writing

I suppose this will be a ramble of sorts. I wanted to talk about a sad thing I noticed but also a good thing I noticed about fandoms. This is a ramble, and I hope it all connects into a coherent whole by the end.

I'll start with the question I leave at the end. The question that my writing silently asks all readers:

"Here is a story of a human being that may be different from you, so will you join me at this campfire and hear their tale? To join them on this great journey of wonder, pain, joy, sorrow, and hope?"

One of the things that drew me to various fandoms, and my current one was a sense of connection. A sense of community, but I've also learned that despite this strength, there is an underlying undercurrent of who is allowed to exist in that community.

Part of writing fanfiction is because we want to see more of our beloved characters. To dig deeper into them, to fulfill this need for connection.

Because that's the crux of most things about us human beings, right? We are social beings that live best when we have connections with other human beings. None of us can live in a perfect isolation with no contact with anyone else ever (in fact studies show this is very, very, very bad for our health and can slowly kill us).

Yet, as a disabled person, I find myself stuck in this weird liminal space of seeking connection but sometimes finding instead reminders of how conditional my existence in the space truly is.

I notice that the stories willing to push the envelope a little, to explore what it'd be like if one of our beloved characters was disabled, often get far more harsh comments and far less support.

I've sat back and observed, and the more I interact with fandoms, the more I wonder if there is room for people like me.

I've seen some pushback in various fandoms -- even TLOK -- against people who want to explore our beloved characters in settings that allow for a more diverse intersection of identities. That tackle themes related to disability, gender identity, race, and so forth. To tackle more nuanced Leftist thought (that isn't displayed like a bad thing which TLOK sadly does at times).

This saddens me because that sort of pushback breaks the connection and community of fandoms in a way.

The whole reason I'm writing fanfiction is because I couldn't quite find the story I wanted to read. There's a lot of flaws in Legend of Korra, and I wanted to tackle the stories inherent in it from a different angle. To explore themes left unexplored. But also to show the shared moments Korra and Asami have. (They are legit my favorite couple of all time).

But I just don't feel very comfortable writing smut. I never have, so I'm already an outlier in the fanfiction writer community.

But I've realized of late that I also because an outlier with how I explore disability in my fanfiction.

Honestly Book 3 of TLOK sets the disability theme up, and although it does an excellent job with the PTSD arc, the way the temporary physical disability was handled during Korra's long healing left me quite frustrated because it utilized verbiage that's often used to demonize or deny disabled people support. No, it's not all in Korra's head (we find out later, that she really did still have poison in her, so Korra was right THE WHOLE TIME). No, it's not a mind over matter (this is the most unhelpful thing to say to a disabled person, seriously). No physical therapy can't cure all things. *sighs* I wanted more nuance there, and since it failed to deliver, I decided to write my own.

I also wanted to dig deep into Asami's story too because sadly enough TLOK doesn't give her the attention her and her trauma deserves.

So I have two separate series. One canon-compliant to explore the ramifications of that.

One an AU where Korra and Asami are romantically together by middle of Book 2, where they must navigate Book 3 and the trauma of that together. How do they do it? Can they do it? What sort of disability will they face and how will they deal with that?

I recognize what I write is not what most folks want from the fandom, and I feel like sometimes there is this unspoken undercurrent in the fandom to not really dig into the disability themes inherent in TLOK.

I think this is why commenters literally had a fight in the comments of my Shared Moments: Book 3. I had taken the disability theme in Book 3 (and 4) and made it highly visible. I had foreshadowed this quite thoroughly in all honesty.

I had made it clear from the start of the series that I promised to be realistic about trauma, about physical injuries, and about healing. Sure, I took some liberties in fight scenes to play up some interesting martial art moves that actually exist, but there's always ramifications and consequences.

I think in a way the fight that happened in my Book 3 (at the final confrontation with Zaheer's group) exemplifies the hidden current of ableism within the fandom.

Asami had barely escaped the lavabender and had a fourth-degree burn on the sole of her right foot. Those are when the burn destroys the nerves and can go as deep as the bone. They are quick to become infected if not treated right away, and in Asami's case, there was no way for it to be treated until after the airbenders are rescued. TLOK is set in a technological and medical period similar to 1940s, so the typical solution in that time period is amputation.

I'd carefully laid out details like crumbs for readers to find that heavily hints that this could be one of the possible outcomes.

Nothing about it was surprising.

And yet, two commenters were angry that one of the characters would end up permanently disabled. They utilized a harmful ableist trope, ignored the story up to that point, and demanded I alter the story because they deemed Asami's injury "unnecessary for the narration" and "too much."

Truth is, as much as I tried not to let it hurt me, it did.

Why? Because I'm disabled. I've had injuries due to circumstances where I didn't receive the healthcare I needed in time to prevent the injury and illness from worsening. I've been in Asami and Korra's shoes in a way.

Being told that a story that mirrored my own, that mirrored the lives of so many disabled people is "too much" and "unnecessary for narration" is a vivid reminder of how deep ableism has fallen into the psyche of our society.

Most folks wouldn't consider that ableist, and yet, if the same words were said about queer identities? If someone said that Korra and Asami being bisexual is "unnecessary for the narration" or "too much" there would be riots in the TLOK fandom. (In fact, I sometimes still witness some between Makorra shippers versus Korrasami shippers, where it doesn't seem to matter that Korrasami is canon to the Makorra folks, they get incensed and fall back on biphobic language. Only to be rightly called out for the harm of it.)

So why aren't we standing up for disabled people?

The Legend of Korra is a survivor story. It's a disability story. Complex-PTSD that Korra has is a disability. Acute-PTSD, which is likely what Asami has, is also a disability.

Disability is not bad. It is not evil. It's not too much.

Disability is beautiful. It should be normalized as just part of who a person is. We, disabled people, can do great things despite our disability.

And yet, those commenters couldn't see that.

All they could see was their beloved character would be permanently disabled. Their unconscious bias reared its head, and they lashed out in a way that hurt. (And also angered several other commenters who kindly called them out).

They were angry at being forced to confront the fact that their beloved character was now in the category of "disabled." It required them to relate -- to connect -- to a disabled person as a human being.

That's the moment of truth isn't it?

When someone is forced to relate to another person as a human being worthy of respect and dignity, that is when we discover the true character of a person I think.

Disabled people like myself are often treated like we are sub-human. Like we don't matter, like it'd be better if we ceased to exist. (I can give dozens of examples, but I think how the pandemic is currently being handled is a blatant look at how ableism is structured in our society and how much it harms all of us.)

Society saturates our media with messages of how disabled people are less than, sub-human, unworthy of life, unworthy of being allowd to even participate in society. Often the only way we are allowed to exist at all is if we are displayed as an "inspiration," something for which abled-bodied people to oogle and feel good about themselves for "helping" us "get over" or "cure" our disability, as if our disability is a problem to be solved rather than something that can be both painful but also beautiful. (I often try to see the beauty in my ADHD, my APD, my autoimmune illness. And yes, for LongCovid in particular, I may wish for a cure for my LongCovid, but I can also recognize the beauty within my illness - I see the world differently and that lens allows me to connect in new ways and to show more kindness and love in different ways. That too is beauty).

The harmful messages about disabled people are everywhere, and we often unconsciously absorb them.

I try to do my best to respond with kindness. To even try to educate when I can, but I also have to have a firm boundary because I'm a human being.

I don't have enough energy to tackle educating people about this AND doing what I need to survive.

And for me, writing is survival.

I think the reason it hurt to see ableism at play in the fandom was because I had been thinking maybe I might actually belong to a group for once. That maybe I would be treated as a human being, who has a talent for something.

But seeing the words "too much" and "unnecessary for narration" in the comments, brought out not only my insecurities, but a reminder of just how fucking hard it is to write diverse characters.

I've never written fanfiction before 2021.

I'm a science fiction (and sometimes fantasy) author, though at the moment it's only short stories that have been published.

Do you know how many times I've heard those harmful phrases said while I trying to get my original stories published?

Editors would tell me:

"Your character being nonbinary is unnecessary for the narration." Or "It's too much to have a nonbinary character. You should just choose a gender and we'll consider it."

"Why is this character disabled? It seems unnecessary for the narration. Just eliminate them and rewrite it."

It didn't matter that the disability was crucial to the character and her understanding of the world and how she navigated it. (Or that she was literally the protagonist.)

It didn't matter that the nonbinary person's identity was crucial to their character, their understanding of the world, and how others related to them.

It didn't matter even if it was crucial to the plot.

All that mattered was that the editors were uncomfortable with characters that didn't match the ideal human they decided was the only allowed protagonist.

In a way, they were saying that people like me didn't deserve to have our stories told. To be recognized and seen as protagonists, as human beings to which readers could connect.

Is fandom any different?

Maybe there are readers who enjoy what I write, but sometimes I see so much of the content of fandom, and this intense demand for an ideal form of human, and I don't see myself.

I don't see myself and those like me being accepted as we are. Where we are worthy of connection too.

So I create that representation; I carefully weave a story so everything is set up, foreshadowed, makes sense in the characterization and narration, and I come face to face with the blatant ableism, blatant transphobia, and sometimes even blatant biphobia.

And it's a reminder that even while I try to find comfort and solace and a safe place to recover from my own illness and from the world at large...

... in the end, it's hard to feel like there will ever be acceptance. It's hard to feel like the fandom is willing to treat people like me as a human worthy of respect and dignity.

Because that's the thing, isn't it?

When people see me in my wheelchair, they don't see a person. They see a thing. A sub-human to be pitied. I get touched in ways that would never happen if I was abled-bodied. My wheelchair gets moved in ways that would never happen if I was abled-bodied (that wheelchair is an extension of my body and touching it without my consent is touching me without consent). I get sneers sometimes. I get people staring at me like I'm some carnival show.

It's tiresome. It's hurtful. It isolates.

To have a beloved character end up in a wheelchair, or end up with a prosthetic?

People are forced to face their own ableism. They are forced to see the ugliness they display toward me and those like me. Because now their beloved character is one of my people.

And the anger that is hurled at me for doing this is honestly ridiculous. Exhausting too.

People don't like being uncomfortable, but we cannot grow if we're not uncomfortable. We cannot become better than we were unless we confront the things that break our ability to connect.

i write because I want people to connect. I want people to understand ways of being that is unlike their own, and to come to understand that we are all human beings. We all are worthy and deserving of respect and dignity. We all deserve to be seen and accepted where we are.

Those are the stories I love the most. The ones that build up and not tear down.

And perhaps that is why I will never truly fit in. Because I refuse to sit down and make myself small enough to fit in. Because I prefer to dig into the reality of our differences and how those differences are actually our similarities and our biggest strengths.

It is our diversity that is our strength. It's also how we connect, how we find our similarities, because even in our beautiful galaxy of identities, we all have similar human needs and qualities that shine through.

We are all made of stardust. We are all social beings. We all strive for some level of connection, and although the layers of that may differ for each of us, that human need to connect cannot be truly erased or ignored.

I'll end where I began, with the great question my writings always silently ask readers:

"Here is a story of a human being that may be different from you, so will you join me at this campfire and hear their tale? To join them on this great journey of wonder, pain, joy, sorrow, and hope?"

And honestly, that's why I write.

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