<<<<<<<<<<<<
where even basic psychological templates are inflated like a porn star's tits: they bear a vague resemblance to reality, but they're super-sized, over-the-top, reaching for the heavens, defiantly unreal, a pornographic fantasy that refuses the mundane conventions of the saggy, jiggly truth.
the unreality of a world that still has psychological value, if you picture Freud on crack after a night with Dali as the psychologist
And that's a good break from reality, when the characters are so over-the-top in love or lust that they break from the norm to suck back streams of epic jizm. Love! Hate! Lust! Big, huge emotions that overwhelm shit like blowing your nose or locking your keys in the car or even shit itself--that's what I like.
This is why I always roll my eyes when people talk about responsibility, morality and writing. Fuck that. Stories aren't reality; even the most real story is a fantasy, a version of someone's reality, or a fantasy version of someone else's. It's the people who can't make that distinction between fiction and reality who scare me the most, who don't get that you can write about incest without condoning it, or about chan without practising it.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
A great deal of my favorite stories tend to end with the characters in a wildly different place than I see them in canon. cesperanza is really, really good for this. I mean, her entire oeuvre is chock full of stories with characterizations that make a lot of us say "what the *fuck*?"
But here's the deal about Cesperanzaperson: she's tends to be ready, willing, and able to do the work it takes to get from canonical point A to fictional point Whafuck, so that I, as a reader, just sort of blink and nod and say things like "no, she has a point about Fraser and the diabolical nutritiousness of his criminal plans."
It's my favorite thing in the world to look up from reading a story and sending the breathless, incoherent feedback, and then and *only* then ask myself "wait, *what*?" If I ever actually do.
are two very, very different writers, but they both do one thing really fucking well: Make Me Believe, Whether Or Not I Want To Do So.
want to believe.
Here's where the porn analogy falls apart for me, if only for strictly personal reasons: for me, the 'best' visual porn (read: the stuff most likely to get me off), is precisely the sort of thing I *don't* want to believe in for any longer than it takes for me to get off
Just, you know, give me *some* reason to buy it.
It's not your job to hold my hand.
It is, I think, your job to make your readers *want* to follow you, whoever your readers might be.
Or, you know, write whatever the hell makes you happy. That works, too))))))))))
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
where even basic psychological templates are inflated like a porn star's tits: they bear a vague resemblance to reality, but they're super-sized, over-the-top, reaching for the heavens, defiantly unreal, a pornographic fantasy that refuses the mundane conventions of the saggy, jiggly truth.
the unreality of a world that still has psychological value, if you picture Freud on crack after a night with Dali as the psychologist
And that's a good break from reality, when the characters are so over-the-top in love or lust that they break from the norm to suck back streams of epic jizm. Love! Hate! Lust! Big, huge emotions that overwhelm shit like blowing your nose or locking your keys in the car or even shit itself--that's what I like.
This is why I always roll my eyes when people talk about responsibility, morality and writing. Fuck that. Stories aren't reality; even the most real story is a fantasy, a version of someone's reality, or a fantasy version of someone else's. It's the people who can't make that distinction between fiction and reality who scare me the most, who don't get that you can write about incest without condoning it, or about chan without practising it.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
A great deal of my favorite stories tend to end with the characters in a wildly different place than I see them in canon. cesperanza is really, really good for this. I mean, her entire oeuvre is chock full of stories with characterizations that make a lot of us say "what the *fuck*?"
But here's the deal about Cesperanzaperson: she's tends to be ready, willing, and able to do the work it takes to get from canonical point A to fictional point Whafuck, so that I, as a reader, just sort of blink and nod and say things like "no, she has a point about Fraser and the diabolical nutritiousness of his criminal plans."
It's my favorite thing in the world to look up from reading a story and sending the breathless, incoherent feedback, and then and *only* then ask myself "wait, *what*?" If I ever actually do.
are two very, very different writers, but they both do one thing really fucking well: Make Me Believe, Whether Or Not I Want To Do So.
want to believe.
Here's where the porn analogy falls apart for me, if only for strictly personal reasons: for me, the 'best' visual porn (read: the stuff most likely to get me off), is precisely the sort of thing I *don't* want to believe in for any longer than it takes for me to get off
Just, you know, give me *some* reason to buy it.
It's not your job to hold my hand.
It is, I think, your job to make your readers *want* to follow you, whoever your readers might be.
Or, you know, write whatever the hell makes you happy. That works, too))))))))))
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>