#whether or not I make it a sexy zine will still be made so I am at peace 🙂‍↕️

[sunfishingart]

Forgot to say but I did not make it on the zine :’D which I expected!!

It was a ~sexy pinup~ zine and well. My art is not very sexy (full of funny little guys in a cute way). Also it’s a fandom I was very new to and didn’t have art of (rushed a full piece that wasn’t very good for it)!

Either way I will still be supporting it and looking forward to a lot of the cool artists and writers on there.

I applied to a zine but idk if I’ll get in aaaaa-

[neil-neil-orange-peel]

I never really know quite what to say on this day; I normally just end up repeating myself. I've written fanfic for a lot of Rik Mayall's bastards, and I help run the Rik and Ade Fest, and I was editor of Scumbag Monthly for a long time - but all of these things come with a level of detachment from the man himself. Even the Rik zines we made especially for 9th June were like that.

I'd spend so long in the run up making the zines - and chasing after people to make sure they'd actually submit the pieces they'd said they would - that, when publication day came, the main things that stood out to me about those zines were what was missing and which of the pages I'd made looked a bit naff versus which ones were acceptable. I think - I hope - those zines had an impact on other people, that they made people emotional, but for me releasing them was more akin to ticking a box. It's not that I wasn't proud of them, but I'd been working on them for months in advance. I knew them inside out. It's not that I didn't mean the words I wrote, but I'd read and reread them so many times by 9th June - as well as the words everyone else had written. I wasn't going to get the emotional hit because I was the one doling that out to everyone else. Does that make sense?

For a significant portion of time, Rik Mayall took up a significant portion of my brain matter. It made sense: this was the first fandom I'd ever been properly active in, I'd made friends here, I'd started writing again, and then we were thrown into an international pandemic where there wasn't much else to do but go insane, one way or another. I've said before how I'll always be grateful to Rik for re-sparking my creativity. There's a domino effect that started with me first watching Bottom, which eventually led to me switching my entire uni direction around to pursue creative writing.

For the last year or so, things have been different. We're all multifaceted people, each with a wealth of contradictory and complimentary interests. There are other people and other interests that vye for the top spot in my brain these days.

That said, and the entire point of this bit of waffling being: I still love Rik Mayall. And I say that knowing how superficial it sounds, and I say it without worrying whether I still will in another 5 years - because I know I will. He was marvellous, and hilarious, and sexy. He made it feel okay to be a bit weird, okay to be a bit mad; he made you want a spot on whatever wave of excitement he was riding, like the world really was just waiting for you to live in it. He was human, and he was flawed, and he was bloody stupid sometimes, but that didn't stop him from leading a comedy revolution and making the world that bit brighter.

Rik should have had longer on the earth. The fact he's gone - and for 9 years now - will always be incredibly unfair to him and his loved ones. The rest of us are just blessed that, to paraphrase a certain spotty prick, we still have his poems. So long as he keeps us laughing, Rik will still be here in some way.

So, once again, here's to our eternal Lord of Misrule: Rik Mayall! ❤️

[fansofvow]

Interview with Eve Golden Woods!

Many of you know who is Eve is. She's a writer and artist, a part of Dreamfeel studios whose beautiful game If Found won Best LGBTQ Narrative and Best LGBTQ Indie game at the first ever Gayming Awards presented by EA games. I am really excited I had the chance to ask Eve some questions about herself, her time at Lovestruck and her creative process.

Congratulations on the two Gayming Awards (Best LGBTQ Narrative, Best LGBTQ Indie Game) for "If Found" from your game studio, Dreamfeel. What was the inspiration behind making the game?

If Found... was a game that emerged out of a collaboration between Llaura McGee, the founder of Dreamfeel, and artist Liadh Young. Liadh's background is as a comic artist, and so when they started working together Llaura had the idea of showing off Liadh's art by making a diary game, and using an erasing mechanic she had previously developed to let the player move through the diary in a fun way. By the time I came on board at the start of 2019, the game had already been in development for a while, so in some ways my work on that game was similar to the work I did for Voltage, because it was taking existing characters and concepts and writing a lot of scripts for them. Unlike Voltage, though, my work for Dreamfeel was a lot more collaborative and I had a lot more creative input. I really enjoy taking something and helping to make it the best version of itself that it can possibly be, but I was also really happy that I got to reflect a lot of my own experiences in If Found. Llaura and I both grew up on the west coast of Ireland, and although If Found... isn't autobiographical for either of us, it was definitely really meaningful to be able to tell a story that reflected our own experiences of growing up as queer teens in a similar kind of environment. Since the game came out we've had fans reach out to us and tell us that they also connected to the experiences of the main characters, and as far as I'm concerned, that makes me feel like I achieved everything I wanted to.

You are a writer and a visual artist. Does one come easier to you than the other?

I used to think of art and writing as talents, and I always felt like my art was at a very mediocre level (that's probably still true, lol). So when I was younger I focused a lot more on writing. It was only later that I started genuinely trying to improve as an artist, but when I did, I think I had a much healthier mindset, and approached it as a skill I could learn with patience and effort. Because of that, even though I still have a lot more confidence in my writing, I find art more fun and relaxing, and I don't stress about it as much.

Did you always know you would follow a creative path?

Kind of? Both my parents are artists, and I grew up surrounded by artists and writers, so it was something that was always very familiar and accessible to me. On the other hand, I didn't exactly have a clear idea of how to make it into a career, or what kind of work would be involved. But there's never been a point in my life where I wasn't doing something creative, even if it was only writing fanfiction.

What did your path to working professionally as a writer/artist look like?

I did a creative writing masters in college, but after that I spent years teaching English as a second language. That was really fun and I got to live abroad, but it was so busy and tiring that I didn't have time to do any writing outside of the occasional fanfic. I only started to take art seriously again when I became interested in games and comics as ways of telling stories. I did some critical writing, which led me to speak at a few local events and get involved in zine fairs. That was how I met Llaura, the director and lead of the Dreamfeel studio, and it's also what gave me the confidence to start applying for actual writing jobs.

Is there any work of art, visual or written, that you look to for inspiration?

So many! I try to read and watch as widely as I can, although there are touchstones I always return to, like the works of Ursula Le Guin and Terry Pratchett. Right now I feel very passionate about the actual play podcast Friends at the Table, which manages to combine really thoughtful worldbuilding and storytelling with cool, fun characters and great action scenes. I'm also reading a book called The Memory Police by Youko Ogawa, which has extremely beautiful prose.

Do you have a favorite piece of your own art, whether it is something you’ve drawn, a screenshot of something you’ve written or something else?

My favourite piece of art is usually whatever I finished most recently (I think that's true for a lot of people). Especially with visual art, once a bit of time has gone by you look back on it and start to notice all your mistakes, which is very annoying. But actually I do still really like the first piece of Fiona fanart I did last year. I managed to use some effects to give it a kind of nineties anime quality that I find really fun, and I think it conveys an emotion pretty effectively. That's always one of the hardest things to predict with visual art, whether the different parts will come together to create the exact mood you're looking for.

I also really like the compass I did for Bycatch. Krissy (@xekstrin) was the one who suggested filling it with fingernails, which was such a good, gross idea! As soon as I heard that I knew it was perfect and that I had to try and draw it.

Many people who read this blog know you as a writer for Lovestruck. When you look back on your time there, what stands out in your mind?

Lovestruck was very important to me when I first started because it was my first ongoing, regular, paid writing work. It gave me a lot of confidence and helped me to get into the habit of writing consistently and rapidly, which is a really useful skill to have. I know I was right to leave when I did, though, because I am just brimming with energy to work on my own projects, and channeling that power into something that you can't control will always end up disappointing you. Also, I made a ton of incredible friends, through Lovestruck itself but then even more so through VOW (@vowtogether), and that is more than worth all the difficult parts.

Is there any character that you would have liked a crack at writing?

Oh gosh, what a fun question! There are so many, but one I do sometimes think about is Axia, just because I know there are a bunch of fans who want her route, and because I had fun writing her as a villain in Zain's route. I can see in my head the shadow of a storyline that takes place after Zain's route is over, where she's in prison and trying to understand how she lost the battle with Zain and MC. I think there's, like, a gap there, where you could see her downfall forcing her to reconsider her assumptions about power, and that could build into a very interesting redemption story. But maybe it's for the best I never got to do that, because I would have wanted full creative control over it, and also I think the story in my head is very different to the sexy, in control, menacing version of Axia that her fans enjoy.

Do you have any upcoming projects you can talk about?

Most of my current work is under NDA, but I will say that I'm doing something very exciting with other VOW members that we should be able to talk about soon(ish). Maybe I can even give a little teaser... It's not a game, but it is something you can read, and my part involves cakes, swamps, and a museum.

Do you have a favorite quote or song lyric?

It's a big long, but there's a section from The Dispossessed by Ursula le Guin that has stayed with me ever since I read it:

"For we each of us deserve everything, every luxury that was ever piled in the tombs of the dead kings, and we each of us deserve nothing, not a mouthful of bread in hunger. Have we not eaten while another starved? Will you punish us for that? Will you reward us for the virtue of starving while others ate? No man earns punishment, no man earns reward. Free your mind of the idea of deserving, the idea of earning, and you will begin to be able to think."

It's such a profoundly radical way of imagining the world, so different to everything I was raised with, but whenever I think about it I feel like I can see something very beautiful and powerful that I hope to come closer to understanding some day.

And of course, "Solidarity forever, the union makes us strong."

I was a big fan of the show Inside the Actor’s Studio. Host James Lipton asked every single guest the same 10 concluding questions. I’ve picked 3 of them:

-What is your favorite word?

My favourite word: for sound, I like words you can really roll around on your tongue. Chthonic, alabaster, insinuation. For meaning, I think simple words that encapsulate big concepts have a kind of power to them. We use them so often we forget how big they are, how much weight they really have, but they give us the space to imagine new possibilities. Love. Freedom. Revolution.

-What is your least favorite word?

I've heard that "moist" is a lot of people's least favourite word but it doesn't actually bother me. My least favourite word is probably one where I feel like the sound doesn't match the meaning. One of the Irish words for rain is báisteach, which I feel has a much weightier and more onomatopoeic sound than rain. Rain is just very flat and uninteresting.

-What profession other than your own would you like to attempt?

Oh, so many! I love history, and I think being a historian/archaeologist would be fascinating. Or something that had a physical component to it, like being a potter or a carpenter. I don't think I'd be any good, but I'd love to take the time to learn.

What would be your advice to anyone who wants to pursue a creative career?

All the work you do matters. Even the failed experiments, the things you hate when they're finished. It all helps to make you better. Also, creative career paths are often really unexpected, so chase any opportunity that seems remotely interesting. Don't work for free for anyone who can afford to pay, but work for yourself and put it somewhere. On a blog, twitter, whatever. You'd be amazed how many people get noticed and get offered opportunities because of something they made in their spare time. You'll probably have to work another job for a long time, so don't be hard on yourself if you're too tired to devote much energy to creative work. Try to make art consistently, but don't feel like that has to mean every day. Don't chase after celebrities. Make friends with your peers.

[randomoranges]

a few notes on this one: so, at the time this was only the second fic i wrote for this pairing, some almost 5 yrs ago. i had a very “naïve” view of their relationship and wasn’t talking as much with the other two “collaborators/creators”. therefore, this was very much my own view and my own thoughts and my own - whatever. the Timeline wasn’t as full or as developed. 

retrospectively, my view was that they got together, they were aware of the other having feelings, but they had a falling out bcs étienne couldn’t do Actual Feelings and commit. Anyways. i was going to rework it so that it could fit with the curent timeline, but doing so would remove too much of the essence of the original piece, so i left it as is. despite all that, i still find this one sweet, even if it’s a little naïve and optimistic. so i’m still re-posting it for sentimental reason, but it’s off timeline now. who knows, maybe it can be an au HAHAH.

Perfect Cities I Wanna Hold Your Hand

 The strangest thing was being able to spend so much time with Étienne. For so long, their friendship had been held at a distance, through the exchange of letters and an odd phone call here and there. Now, they could see each other during meetings, they could actually plan to meet up outside of them and the novelty was something else. Therefore, there had been many more lunches, after that first one. Edward found himself seeking out his new friend at every other meeting and the two of them were spending more and more time together. It was strange to think that Étienne wanted to see him – or wanted to spend so much time with him, but it was nice to have a friend at these things.

 At first, they wrote off the time they spent together as work related, but when they realised that they were spending more time discussing anything else but work related things, they dropped their fake pretenses and hung out for the sake of hanging out and enjoying one another’s company. Étienne was an interesting fellow to have around and Edward was fascinated by his way of life. (Had always been, to some extent, he’d read all about it in the letters.)

 It was around that same time that Étienne gave him his phone number (again, but Étienne didn’t seem to recall Edward having it and Edward didn’t say anything), with the specific instructions of calling him whenever he felt like it. Edward returned the favour (in case his friend had misplaced it), with a nervous, shaky hand.

 There had been three accidental four-am phone calls, where a sleepy Étienne had answered the phone, and twice Edward hung up, embarrassed, but on the third, he stayed on the line long enough to apologise and realise that Étienne sounded really sexy, when he was half asleep and spoke French. (And somewhere in the back of his mind he wondered what any of that was supposed to mean, but he buried it away and focused on anything else but that.)

 From that point on, he made sure to establish a specific time when they could call each other, since he didn’t want to impose and phone calls could be expensive. It would be a shame to waste money if the other wasn’t there to pick up.

 They spoke of trivial things; anything from the weather, to last night’s game, but after Edward accidentally stumbled on Étienne’s sketchbook, they started exchanging thoughts on current artists and galleries they had visited – art movements they liked, previous artists they had known.

 Edward enjoyed these talks with his friend and he genuinely looked forward to each and every one. Étienne made him laugh and always had an interesting story to share. On top of that, he never asked why he had been absent for so long and why he had often looked out of it when they had run into each other. For that, Edward was thankful. He didn’t feel ready to relive that particular moment of his life and he didn’t want to share the details just yet.

 The only problem with his friendship with Étienne was that he was slowly falling for him and he didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t let that happen. For so many reasons. Étienne was his friend, for starters, and Edward was pretty sure Étienne wasn’t interested in him that way (and that was fine, really.) Edward thought that maybe it was just his body reacting to someone being nice to him and genuinely seeming to enjoy his company after so long.

 He was okay with being friends, but he had heard enough about Étienne and his multitude of escapades and thirsts to hope that he would fit his criteria – that maybe Étienne would at least... show some interest – just once, or something (and then he berated himself all over again for thinking that way).

 But, apparently, he didn’t.

 Edward just hoped he wouldn’t do something stupid to ruin this as well.

 The other problem was that Étienne had invited him to spend a few days at his place. They were collaborating on a zine, some crazed idea Étienne had excitedly told him over the phone a while back, and Étienne figured they would get more work done, if they were standing in the same room.

 Edward had no problem with that, but it meant spending so much more time with his friend and after his last two dreams, he wasn’t sure he wanted Étienne to remain just a friend anymore. (And was he even okay with wanting that from Étienne after everything that had happened? The short answer was yes, the longer answer was more complicated.)

 Yet, when he landed at the airport, Étienne was there to greet him and for a moment, he conveniently forgot about his ordeal. They took a cab back to Étienne’s place, in the Plateau, and when Edward offered to pay, Étienne refused.

 His friend gave him the grand tour of the apartment, before Edward was shown to his room. It was small, stuffed to the brim with Habs merchandise, but Edward thought it suited the other man. When Étienne told him he had put some away, he laughed.

 Étienne then took him out to explore the city. It was a whirlwind of public transportation and many different sites. From le parc Lafontaine, to le Mont-Royal, passing by the Olympic Stadium, it was a busy afternoon and Edward was glad Étienne knew the city inside and out. It was nice to actually spend time in the city that wasn’t related to work or some grand event that took up all their time.

 Edward told himself he would do something brash, to figure out whether or not he actually had a chance with Étienne, and if his friend was interested in him. Of course, he wouldn’t do anything too drastic, just something that would help him read Étienne.

 He decided he would take Étienne’s hand.

 Or, at least, he would try to. He hoped that by doing so, Étienne would, hopefully, take his hand and then they could move on from there.

 But, if Étienne didn’t... then, well, they could always be friends and he could always dismiss this whole thing.

 The problem was, though, that every time he summoned enough courage to take Étienne’s hand, his friend either scratched his face, fixed his glasses, pushed up his bag strap, or did ten million other things with his hand that impeded him from taking it.

 Edward was half convinced that Étienne was doing it on purpose, as they stepped out of the métro, to get back to Étienne’s apartment. However, just as they made it to the door, he saw his opening.

 He took a deep breath, counted to three, hoped his hand wasn’t too sweaty, and made a wild grab for Étienne’s hand.

 He held his breath and waited for either of two things to happen; Étienne would push him away, or Étienne would take his hand.

 Instead, Étienne did absolutely nothing.

 And it slowly broke him inside.

 Edward was about to let go and write this whole thing off, but then, to his shock and surprise, Étienne did something.

 Étienne squeezed his hand back.

 He looked at his friend, but Étienne’s face was unreadable. The other man looked right ahead of him, as they walked back to the apartment. Edward looked away from him and to the ground, not feeling any better. Sure, Étienne was holding his hand, but that was it.

 If Edward gave himself time to think about it, Étienne’s hand was surprisingly warm and not at all what he had been expecting. His skin was rough in some places, soft in others, he was pretty sure he could feel a callous, or maybe it was just a dry patch of skin, but Edward didn’t want to let go.

 --

 By the time they got home, Étienne was a nervous wreck. He liked Edward, he really did that was never the problem and had never been.

 He had tried flirting with him, on a number of occasions, but it always seemed as though Edward was more interested in friendship than romance. He didn’t mind, really, and he wasn’t even sure if his suspicions about his friend were even right.

 But then, when Edward took his hand, everything changed.

 For the first time, in a very long time, he was interested in someone for more than sex. Usually, Étienne never bothered with feelings and emotions. It was all about the sex. He wanted it, he went after it. However, Edward was different. He liked spending time and getting to know him. He enjoyed the phone calls they shared and the lunches they took together. He wanted to get to know Edward, in ways he never allowed himself to, and it scared him.

 He was afraid that he or his reputation would scare off Edward, but when the other man took his hand, he completely froze. It seemed as though the very air around them stilled and he tried not to think about what any of this could mean. He avoided looking at Edward and instead, focused on getting home.

 When they did, he was on autopilot. He had to let go of Edward’s hand to open the door, and when he stepped in, he caught a brief glance of his bright, red cheeks. He quickly went to the kitchen, hoping his friend hadn’t noticed.

 “D’you want anything to drink?” He called back, rummaging through his fridge. “I was gonna have a beer.” “Or five.” He added, as an afterthought, in his head.

 “Oh, sure, thanks.”

 “Make yourself comfortable, I’ll be right out.” He took a long sip of his beer, tried a few deep breaths, and attempted to calm down, before he joined Edward in the living room.

 They sat side by side, in silence, and drank their beers. Étienne wanted to say something, but the only thing running in his head was the feeling of Edward’s hand in his, and he didn’t know how to bring that up.

 Instead, by the time he reached the end of his beer bottle, he excused himself and retrieved another one. They sat apart on the couch, both lost in their own thoughts, until Étienne silently slumped his head on Edward’s shoulder.

 “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you, but I actually really like you.” He murmured, in the fold of Edward’s neck, his breath warm against equally warm skin.

 Edward tensed and didn’t know what to say or do. Étienne liked him? As in liked him liked him? He remained perfectly still and held his breath, afraid he would miss Étienne’s strange confession. However, his friend had nothing else to say.

 He was starting to think he had hallucinated everything, safe for the fact that Étienne’s head was on his shoulder, when he felt the other’s hand on his, once more.

 Confused, he looked at their joined hands and hesitantly took it back, before turning to face Étienne.

 He had never noticed how green his eyes were and he felt drawn to them.

 For a moment, they simply looked at each other, not saying a word, and held hands. Edward felt Étienne caress the top of his hand, with his thumb, and he never wanted this to end, even though his heart was probably beating too fast.

 “I... I... I like you too.” He finally managed to say. He hoped the sky wouldn’t fall on his head and he held his breath for a moment longer, waiting for the apocalypse. When that didn’t happen, he chanced another look at Étienne and saw the prettiest of smiles blossom on his face.

 He wanted to see so many more.

 “I’m glad. I’m sorry for earlier... you took me by surprise.”

 Edward let out a nervous laugh and gave his hand a squeeze. “It’s okay. I guess... I wanted your attention and I didn’t know how to get it.”

 “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to startle you. I can be a handful, sometimes. I’m sorry if you thought I didn’t return your feelings.”

  Edward couldn’t take his eyes away from Étienne’s face. He was attracted to it, there was no point denying it, and he felt his heart flutter, when he realised how close they were and the proximity of their bodies.

 “No, really, it’s fine.” He was starting to think that maybe this was where he would have his first kiss, but the magic had to end, when the phone rang. Étienne apologised and went to answer.

 When he returned, he suggested they start working on the zine. Edward had almost completely forgotten about it and he would have preferred returning to that earlier moment, when they had been holding hands, on the couch.

 He helped Étienne set up the materials on his living room floor, before they started working. It was a good thing he enjoyed the work, for he was able to put his earlier thoughts to the back of his mind quickly, as he got engrossed in the layout of the zine.

 Étienne had made a few prints for it and he was busy inking the one they would use for the next issue, while Edward pasted the pictures. Neither one of them realised the time that went by, as they had another beer and the floor became an extension of their work. It was only when Étienne went to retrieve his other brush from his bedroom that Edward realised the beautiful mess they had created.

 With his brush in hand, Étienne fell back to his spot and looked at Edward’s hand at work. He couldn’t help but smile to himself, as he noticed his friend scrunch up his nose in concentration. He thought it was adorable.

 There was a smudge of paint on his cheek and some under his fingernails, as well. Étienne watched Edward’s hands dance on the paper. He looked at the curve of his fingers and the bend of his joints. He watched as he folded and glued the paper meticulously in place, and he felt his heart race.

 “Hey,” Edward paused and looked up. Étienne smiled at him, from his half-lying position.

 “Yes?”

 “I was thinking of something.” Edward gave him a curious look, as he capped his glue stick, his full attention on him.

 “Yes?”  He repeated.

 “I wanna try something. Close your eyes.” Edward wanted to inquire about his idea, but something about the way Étienne looked at him made him obey.

 “’Kay, keep ‘em closed.” He waited for whatever it was that was supposed to come. He was about to ask his friend what it was he wanted to try, when he heard the rustle of fabric, followed by the soft pressure of a pair of foreign lips on his own.

 Surprised and shocked, Edward opened his eyes quickly and found Étienne leaning close, kissing him.

 His mind stilled and ran twice as fast, as his breathing turned laboured and his hands grew sweaty. He waited for the worst and knew something bad was about to happen. Someone would crash in, he would be sent back there, Étienne would tell him this had been all a joke, or he would wake up, alone, in his own bedroom. But then Étienne simply pulled away.

 “I’m sorry – I didn’t mean to – I just thought –”

 “Do it again.” He rasped out. Étienne blinked and looked at him.

 “What?”

 “Kiss me again.” He said, a little louder, feeling more confident, when Étienne smiled.

 This time, he was ready, when Étienne dipped his head and caught his lips between his own. He met him halfway and dared to tangle a hand in Étienne’s curly, brown locks. He let the other man lead him through his first kiss and mimicked everything he did; unafraid, exploring.

 When Étienne pushed him back, he let himself fall on the discarded papers, allowing his friend’s hands to run down his body. He had never felt so alive and he never wanted it to stop.

 He looked up into Étienne’s inquiring green eyes and smiled reassuringly at the question he read in them, when they pulled away, breathless. There was a piece of paper stuck in his dishevelled hair and a splash of blue India ink by his chin. He could count the marks on his face, if he wanted to, but he would have preferred kissing them one by one. For a moment, they stayed like that, with Étienne hovering over him, until he reached for his friend’s hand and threaded their fingers again.

 “You can do it again.” He grinned.

 “I plan to, and we’ll keep the rest for later.” Étienne murmured, warm in his ear, before he sought his lips for a third consecutive time, pressing down on him. Edward easily parted his lips for him and allowed himself to feel, for the very first time.

 He was Edward, he was alive, free, and he was kissing another man.

 FIN 14

 Started writing: May 9th 2015, 5:22pm

Finished typing: May 10th 2015, 1:23am

Started typing: May 10th 2015, 12:12pm

Finished typing: May 10th 2015, 3:20pm

[lydiaphotomarshall-blog]

That which transpires behind that which appears

This exhibition was made up of a series of large-scale videos of fifty different people from different backgrounds, genders and ages. They are 5-minute videos of the participant staring into the camera, not making a noise but just sitting. This was exhibited on large scale screens in dark rooms, these projections filled the full walls and gave a feeling of being watched or trapped by these large faces. The content of the video was very minimal, but this made the small movements or change of facial expressions more evident and somehow more important. The creator called the piece an immersive moving image interaction, this piece showed how using large scale can still create an emotive response as viewers had a range of reactions from finding it “sexy” to finding the pieces emotional as they saw themselves in the people and found a connection from being so up close and personal with the different people and looking directly at their face which is something you don’t usually experience with a stranger. After my last unit I decided to work on a smaller scale and to crop out the face of the subject matter, in my opinion it was to make the person be more relatable to others and not just me, so the viewer can fit this intimate feeling to their own person in their own lives. I chose smaller scale because I found there was more a choice to look and it didn’t feel invasive on the viewer. Despite this I don’t think I considered working larger scale and what different effect this could have. I could possibly still work with a zine format but on a larger scale meaning the viewer has a choice to open the book but the images themselves are bigger than them, giving a contrasting feeling of not having a choice to look.

Moving forward I want to consider my other obstructions as ways of exploring different effects on the emotions of the viewer. Before I saw them as going against my idea of portraying emotion or intimacy, but I want to think outside this to see whether I can use these obstructions to my advantage to explore different avenues of intimacy and how to depict it.

[flourish]

My life with comics

My best friend as a child has issues of Witchblade. Her parents bought it for her? Maybe. She has video games too, other things that I am allowed to engage with at other people’s houses but that I am not encouraged to bring home.

I love the sexy, powerful women in it. I don’t know that I want to be them, but I want to look at them forever. I don’t know how to get more issues. I know my mother wouldn’t approve.

I’m in high school. My best online friend is involved in scans_daily, and I’ve seen how much she loves superhero comics. I want to get into comics so I can talk with her about them.

There’s a comic shop about a quarter-mile from my house and I walk there in the Central Valley heat, ignoring the catcalls from the road. I’m used to it: in my suburb girls with long blonde hair don’t walk anywhere, and when they do they are fair game for any and all harassment. I’m still in the closet about being bi, still always femme, still painting my mouth with bright red lipstick. I don’t know any other way to be yet.

I get to the shop. It’s in a strip center that’s seen better days, and if you didn’t know it was still in business already, you might assume it was abandoned. I’ve been places like this to buy Magic cards before, got in and got out quickly, keeping my head down. I knew what happened when I played Magic with strange boys: they laughed at me, beat me hollow. After a few experiences like that I kept the cards not to play but just to look at the illustrations and imagine the worlds beyond them. I wanted to play, but I didn’t want to be humiliated.

No one speaks to me when I enter. I thumb through longboxes, feeling the eyes of the men behind the counter on me. I can feel the sweat drying on my back. I don’t want to ask questions. “Shopping for your boyfriend?” one of them finally ventures.

In retrospect, it was probably meant as a kindness.

At the time, I fled.

A few months later I’ve met a guy online. He’s into comics, so I gather up the courage to try again. This time when I go in to the same shop I can say “yes” when they ask whether I’m shopping for my boyfriend, but it’s not true. I have heard about Neil Gaiman’s 1602 and I want to get it weekly.

I go back over the course of months to pick up my one, singular comic. Once or twice someone tries to pick me up. Once the sales guy quizzes me on my knowledge, holding the issue hostage behind the counter as I struggle to explain that I don’t have a history with comics, that I just picked this one up because I like Neil Gaiman. He finally, grudgingly, gives it to me. “You should read—” he says, but then he catches himself: “it’s not out in trades and I don’t think we have all the issues.”

It doesn’t matter. I couldn’t afford to buy a long run of single issues anyway. My parents could, but I don’t have pocket money, and I’m supposed to be focusing on school, not getting a job. Or reading comics.

I like 1602, but I don’t get it. It’s so referential to characters I don’t know, storylines I can’t track. Every time I go into the shop, I feel more like an outsider. I’ve crossed the Rubicon. I am a regular, or anyway, a person who regularly comes in, even if I still don’t know anyone’s name. So why do I feel more left out than ever?

I end up at the same college as the guy I met online. He runs the comics library. Even after we break up, I’m welcome there. I finally feel like I can come in and flop down, pick up any comic I want, read it. I don’t have to talk to anyone if I don’t want to, and if I do talk to people, they are people I already know. I will not be quizzed.

The comics are in hardback books comprised of many single issues. I know they’re sent to a monastery to be bound together. (This is, though it seems fantastic, true.) I suppose that the monks are puzzled by the contents. My imagination doesn’t yet stretch to consider that some of the monks probably loved comics as boys, that they probably enjoy illicitly reading the issues as they bind them.

I can go back as far in comics history as I want to, here. There are first issues of all sorts of things. But I don’t. Every time I pick up something from the 80s or before, it’s too old, I don’t get it. When I try to pick things up in the middle, even the spots where people say “here’s where to start,” I feel that shivery misery of out-of-placeness. Maybe I’m not made for these. Maybe these are not made for me.

I read the full run of Ultimate Spider-Man, because I don’t have to know anything about what came before. I read V for Vendetta. I read Bone. I read Blankets. I read zines published by local artists. I don’t read any more superhero comics, after awhile. It’s not any individual person’s fault. It’s my fault, for not being more persistent. I shouldn’t have been put off by those actually-nice-guys who were just trying to be welcoming in an awkward way. After all, no one ever did anything really offensive. I should have listened more to my kind feminist boyfriend, to the scans_daily friend, even to my childhood best friend who somehow managed to get her hands on all sorts of pop culture that I wasn’t privy to. I shouldn’t have been daunted by canons that stretch back years before my birth. It’s me. I’m the one who’s at fault.

I watch people love superheroes from, it feels like, a long way away.

What if I loved superheroes?

I wax poetic about the new Spider-Man movie, about how much I hated the Tobey Maguire films because they weren’t really about a high school student. I scream with delight when the trailer comes on at SDCC, when I’m in Hall H and suddenly Peter Parker is in a high school comedy and Zendaya is flirting with him and it’s so great. Elizabeth is startled to find out that I care at all.

What if I was a fan of Spider-Man?

It’s not possible that I am a fan of Spider-Man. I know nothing about him. After all, I’ve only read Ultimate.

I feel confident at Comic-Con, going to the CBLDF party, walking around the floor. I know a lot about this stuff compared to most of the people here. I am a True Nerd.

I’m not a True Nerd. I only know a lot about comics compared to the Muggles.

The fact that I call them “Muggles” and not something else, something comics-specific, only illustrates that fact.

I read indie comics. My husband likes them more than me. I can’t compete with his expertise. I can’t compete with anyone’s expertise. So I begin to say, “I don’t read comics.” This is a lie.

I personally buy many of our comics, but they still feel like they belong to him.

I don’t look femme anymore, at least not high femme. I see myself in zines I buy at Printed Matter or at St. Mark’s Bookshop or online: people with long eyelashes and men’s haircuts. I don’t, somehow, connect these people with Witchblade, or with 1602. Their work is sold in bookstores. Their work is sold in Artists’ Alleys. They aren’t comics. Or they are, but they’re not that kind of comics.

They’re the kind of comics that I can read, not the kind of comics I can’t read.

I lift weights a lot. My favorite shirt reads THE SAVAGE SHE-HULK. I have never read a comic about She-Hulk.

I begin to think I might be non-binary, but I don’t care enough to insist on pronouns.

Maybe I do care enough. But I am set in my ways. People assume I’m straight, people assume I’m absolutely female. When I send up a test balloon about it, the reaction is stark: what the fuck. I don’t want to get into the argument.

I also don’t want to get into the argument about comics. I would rather not read superhero comics than have to defend my enjoyment of them, or have to fight my own instincts in order to enjoy them. So I don’t. I’ll study them and know all about them, intellectually, and I’ll watch the movie when it comes out but I won’t give my heart away.

This makes me a coward. I have recently come to recognize that I belong in Slytherin. I guess it comes with the territory.

I study fandoms for work. My closest colleague loves to read single issues, loves Marvel and DC. She follows a million superheroes, she writes criticism for fun in her off hours, she brings great insights. We do projects to look at superhero fandoms together and I know I’m resting in the fact that I can focus on just the parts I feel comfortable with and leave the rest to her. If I squint it’s almost like I’m just engaged in the fandom spaces I always have loved, the spaces that are familiar to me. The internet spaces where people write fanfic and make fanart. The spaces that are mostly female and enby.

On the internet nobody knows you’re a dog.

So why is it that I know so many women, so many women who are much more femme than me, so many women who are much more women than me, who embrace superhero comics?

Who identify as comics people, even if not superhero comics people?

Why can’t I seem to do it too, no matter how much I read?

I don’t normally self-disclose this way, for a lot of reasons. My work involves actively trying to ignore personal feelings about fandoms, checking and double checking against data to make sure that they’re being represented accurately and truthfully and honestly and fairly, and I think I do it pretty well. More to the point, I do it with a team, and we check each other.

Fansplaining involves criticism of fandom as well as celebration of it. A lot of times our experiences as hosts are beside the point. When Elizabeth said she thought we needed to do a big quadruple episode and address racism in Star Wars fandom, my stomach sank. Star Wars was my jam. I wept at the new movies. I owned a whole bookshelf of extended universe novels at one point. I didn’t want to look at how the fandom was flailing (and failing). But she was right. And my feelings were beside the point.

Still, it’s impossible to set aside everything you feel.

Are we really negative about comics on Fansplaining? I can’t tell. Or, I can: I combed through every time we’ve discussed them, and was satisfied that we weren’t. But then I got to the end and had another email from another listener saying that we were. I know from experience that perceptions are untrustworthy. My perceptions are untrustworthy. Relying on your gut means you get things wrong.

I resent that I feel obligated to write this post. I don’t want to talk about how easily intimidated I am. I don’t want to talk about my life as a teenager, when everything to do with gender felt momentous. And I don’t want to have my voice, as an upper middle class white person who isn’t usually visibly non-binary, be the voice that’s heard on this subject, when our interviewees on Fansplaining have surely been speaking from experiences of racism as well. But I guess I’m writing it anyway.

I don’t know how to unpick this knot. I don’t want to be unfair, but I don’t know how to be “neutral,” not in the podcast that Elizabeth and I manage to produce by the skin of our teeth around everything else in our lives. If it were my job I could do it. But I already have a job, and I do have to be neutral there, and I can’t do it any more than I already do.

There’s no answers here, but maybe there’s something useful.