From the Fan Fiction Unbound Archive,
posted by conTessaofthecastle:
By the fire that night, they shared the last of the dried meat Astoria had in her pack. They would have to hunt or forage for nuts or berries in the morning. Daphne’s head hurt. She sighed and, leaning against a tree, tried to find a more comfortable position. She closed her eyes, listening to the crackle of the fire and the rustle of small creatures in the forest nearby. As she tried to concentrate, she felt the pain in her head lift slowly, like a scarf being pulled from her throat by gentle hands. When she opened her eyes, Astoria was watching her in the dark.
“Is your head better?” Astoria asked.
Soph.
At the end of lunch, Professor Forsythe announces that she, Joan, Celestine, and Grace have determined the assignments for our group projects. “An important part of your development as writers is to train you to write in new ways. That means interacting and working with people whose own work is different from yours, but contains or does something which can bring your work to a whole new level. This is why we asked you to describe your work and discuss it with each other this morning.
“You may find conflict at first in your group, but how you bridge the gaps between and among your partners is the very essence of writing for a broader range of readers than merely those who share your interests. This afternoon, you’ll meet and brainstorm about how you can collaborate on a written project which combines what each of you does into a single piece. The four of us will circulate among the groups to facilitate your discussion, but you will collectively control your own work product. We’ll spend the remainder of the afternoon in the conference room, but this time divided into the separate, smaller groups. Then we’ll come back together for the evening meal.”
I get put in a group with Gabriela, Yin, whom I haven’t figured out, and a girl named Ellen, who writes songs. Everyone is excited. Yin was the only one I was worried about, but she’s into how words sound near and next to each other, which works well with the rest of us.
Gabriela’s poetry is less structured than mine. She shows us some of it, and I like the way it’s moody but then uplifting. She writes about loss and how you can still love someone when you lose them, like her dad who died when she was young or the best friend who moved away.
I can’t help wondering if her friend was actually her girlfriend, so I ask, “What happened to your friend?”
Gabriela frowns. “Oh, he went off to college. We skype a lot, but he was like a brother and it’s not the same as having him around.” Her face brightens. “A guy at my new high school asked me out—if it weren’t so far, I’d introduce them so I could see what Max thinks of Evan.”
So, not her girlfriend, and she’s straight or bi. I wasn’t interested in her or anything, but it would be nice if there was another gay girl or two here. At the midafternoon break, Ellen and Yin talk about their boyfriends and ask Gabriela about hers. I don’t say much, but I think maybe this is what Lally feels like when Gordon and I are talking about our crushes or Mibs is off with Greg. I’ll text the three of them about it later and see what they think.
After we come back together, Yin asks us all, “How do we take the stuff we write and do a single piece? The rest of you all work in verse, but my thing is my blog with some free verse.”
Ellen comes up with the best suggestion. “What if we do a variation on a ballad? There’s room in that for everyone. As long as we develop a storyline and some distinct forms that we repeat in short stanzas, everyone can participate in her own format, including blog posts. Would that work for you, Yin?”
“I guess. The format would be fine. I want to think, though, about whether I do fictional blog posts or not. How do we figure out a subject or a story?”
This is where we get stuck.
Grace joins us and suggests, “Why don’t you sleep on it? Time’s almost up. Sometimes the hardest part is figuring out what form you are going to write in, and you’ve done that very well. When I was here a few years ago, everyone was like them.” She gestures to the group with Tess in it. Joan is sitting with them talking, but no one is nodding. Chris’s arms cross tightly over her chest, and Peggy scowls. Tess stares down, as if she wishes she could be somewhere else.
Grace sees our reaction and laughs. “Oh, they’ll work it out. We did. By the time everyone builds snowsisters, everything will be fine.”
Tess.
Chris and I are teamed with two other girls, Peggy and Keisha. After what Chris said last night at the Mocktail Party, I’m pretty unhappy to find that she and I are in the same group. But the cat is about out of the bag at this point. I mean, she knows from this morning’s introduction that I’m the one at the conference who writes fan fiction, and I know exactly what she thinks of that. What I have to figure out now is how to convince her to work with me.
I guess this is one of those uncomfortable things I’m going to have to get used to, especially after I graduate, so I pick up my notebook and go to the corner of the room where she sits, thinking that we can talk. All the other girls are breaking into small groups.
My dad used to tell Molly and me stories about the first Iraq war and how he was deployed with a guy named Richard Oliver. Apparently, he was such a jerk that most of the guys called him “Dick All-Over.” He talked all the time and constantly insulted the guys in the squad, which my dad said got really old when you were all living packed in a barracks, far from your family. He used to moo when my dad walked by. My dad is a third-generation dairy farmer and he’s extremely proud of our farm. We supply milk to all the New England states. My dad works hard every day. Having someone he didn’t even know make fun of his home and his business was tough on him.
But Dick was a talented tank driver, even if he didn’t know when to stop talking trash, and one day he drove my dad’s convoy through crossfire and never so much as blinked. He saved ten guys’ lives. My dad said that taught the whole squad that everyone has their strengths and you need to keep looking for them, even if you don’t like someone.
So, okay, I need to find out Chris’s strengths. I can hear Daddy’s voice saying, “You know not to walk away from a job before it’s done…”
I sit down and, before Chris can say anything, I go first, because I’m not going to let her steamroll me again, like this morning during the talk with Professor Forsythe. “So, Chris does journalism, and the rest of us write fiction. Anybody have any ideas for how to put something together that combines everybody’s interests?”
Nobody says anything and I’m confused about what to say next. I don’t know how to do this. Across the room, Soph is already laughing at an idea of Gabriela’s. God, I am really bad at this. What makes me think I’m going to be able to be a leader?
But then Keisha suggests that we do fiction that takes place a long time ago and involves a fictional character that we all know, so we can work in the fan fiction genre. Peggy chimes in that it could be Maizy Donovan, that journalist in the old Ultraman comic strip, so we can work in both journalism and fan fiction by giving her a personal life and a storyline of her own outside of the adventures of Ultraman. I take notes and I think the idea is sounding kind of cool, better than anything I could have come up with.
Chris sits back and says flatly, “That isn’t going to work.”
That stops all of us in our tracks. I ask her why.
She says, “Because the whole thing is fiction. You guys can write that, but I write real stories about true events that actually happen. You would need to come up with something that includes investigative journalism.” I notice she doesn’t say that “she” or even “we” would have to come up with it.
I take a breath and try to tell her that the journalism part comes from what Maizy is working on, but she won’t agree. Even when Keisha and Peggy attempt to convince her to try it, she just shakes her head. I’m wondering how she thinks we can investigate something from here in only a week.
“Well,” I say, taking a different approach. “What do you suggest we do, Chris?”
She shrugs and says, “I don’t care what you guys write. I’m here to improve my own writing and expand my resumé for college applications. I’m going to figure out how Orly got in, since he’s really a guy. I want to know if he lied on his application and if Professor Forsythe knows and didn’t tell the rest of us and why. This is a safety issue for women. I think that sounds like a pretty good story. Y’all can do what you want.”
The session breaks up, so we can go down for the afternoon break. Keisha, Peggy, and I aren’t sure how we can persuade Chris to work with us, and I’m definitely not going anywhere near the thing with Orly. First of all, that’s none of my business. Second, I’m not here to make trouble for anyone. But it seems… wrong. Orly’s group in the corner is talking about something that I can’t hear, and Orly has this little smile on her face as though she’s having a nice time. She isn’t bothering anyone and, from what I can tell, she’s working with her group way better than Chris is working with ours. I see Soph again. She laughs at something one of the other girls says. From across the room, I can tell it’s Soph laughing. She’s waving her hands around, explaining something to her group as though she’s really excited about her project. I wish I could pick up my stuff and just tiptoe across the room and sit down next to her.
I text Joey quickly, to tell him I don’t know how to make Chris work with us, and he texts back.
[From Joey to Tess] What’s her problem?
I don’t have time to text him again, so I shove my phone back in my pocket and go to break.
Soph is there, but she’s already surrounded by people as we help ourselves to cookies and coffee or tea in the lounge with the big fireplace. Janaye shows Soph something on her phone, and even Orly is kind of stuck to her right shoulder. I stand next to Keisha and ask her about where she lives in Washington, DC. Her mom works for NASA, and her dad teaches at a university there. She tells me she’s a fan of The Witches’ Circle, and suddenly I can breathe again. I tell her about my story, and it turns out she knows it. Before you know it, we’re talking about the show and the fandom and the different stories she reads. For the first time since I got here, I think I might belong. Keisha takes me as seriously as Soph did this morning and she loves my latest story; she keeps telling me how cool it is to meet the author. No one has ever called me an author.
When we go back into our groups, I think about what Joey texted and I try again with Chris.
“Is there a problem with Orly? I mean, has she done something that makes you uncomfortable?”
Chris frowns and shakes her head.
“You don’t get it. He’s not a girl. I found out by accident because we’re roommates.”
“Yeah,” says Keisha, “but did he—I mean did she do something to hurt you? She’s been totally nice to me. She lent me some Chapstick last night in the van.”
Chris turns her attention to Keisha and rolls her eyes. “God, could you people be more naive?” She looks at both of us. Peggy sits silently. “This is an awesome story. This is supposed to be a conference to empower young women writers. So, first of all, it should be women. And second of all, what would y’all’s parents think about you rooming with a guy you don’t even know?”
She has a point. If what Chris says is true, my dad would be furious if he knew I was rooming with Orly. But, even so, I don’t think that’s what Chris is focused on. I think she wants an article published somewhere. That’s what’s making me uncomfortable. I try to make her focus on the writing we’re supposed to be doing.
“I think I get that you want to do some real journalism for this conference and we’re all fiction writers, but this is supposed to be a group project. Do you have any ideas for what we could do that could solve everyone’s problem and still have us work together?”
She blinks at me and says, in that flat drawling voice, “Do your own project. I’ll do mine. No one tells. Everyone’s happy at the end. You put your names on your group project, and I send my work to feminist blogs and online magazines to expose how a supposed ‘women’s writing conference’ actually includes guys who put young women’s safety in jeopardy.” Without saying another word, she gets up and leaves the room.
So much for working as a group. I’m clearly not able to lead Chris anywhere. I’m confused by her attitude, though. She isn’t saying she wants to switch rooms or tell Professor Forsythe about Orly. In fact, she wants us to keep her secret while she does her investigation. None of that sounds right to me. My dad might not want me rooming with Orly, but he sure as heck wouldn’t be happy with me doing it and spying on her behind her back at the same time. His voice comes back to me: “Make us proud, Tess.” I came to this workshop to learn how to write and to try to figure out how to answer that darn question about leadership. None of this mess is going to help me figure that out. Besides, I’m barely starting to make friends with my own roommate. Maybe I should focus on that for now.
* * *
From Soph Alcazar’s Writing Journal,
February 11, 2018
It’s good to be with fellow balladeers.
But she, I sense, is not with musketeers.