"Writing Where It Hurts" A "Daria" essay by C.E. Forman (ceforman@worldnet.att.net) Two weeks ago, for the first time ever, I seriously considered packing up and leaving the "Daria" fan-fiction community. Before I get into that, I'd like to share a story with you, now that I've (hopefully) got your attention. About five years ago, a third-year college student with a love of writing was elated to find a UseNet newsgroup on the topic of computerized inter- active stories, the same type of computer game he'd grown to love as a child. It was a small group, with perhaps 20 regular posters, and only a half-dozen or so actual authors dedicated to creating new games of this type, but they were a friendly, supportive band with a genuine love for the medium and an encouragingly high content-to-noise ratio in their discussions. Hoping to see more good games written, one of the overseers organized a contest with prizes donated by other group members. On a whim, the young college student wrote (in 4 days) and entered a quick satire game, which ended up placing 4th in its division, 7th overall. It was simplistic and crudely programmed, but very funny. People liked it a lot, and gave it plenty of recognition -- praise, words of thanks, even a nice long criticism or two. Inspired, the author spent about 8 months writing a much larger, more complex story-game. But something happened. In between, the group itself had grown and changed. The notion of what made a "good" interactive story good became much more clear-cut. The game-development tools got better and easier to use. Large-scale immigration of new authors had given rise to a massive influx of new games, more than most people had the time or inclination to give more than a cursory glance. The annual contest continued, growing more and more bogged down with ridiculous rules, technicalities, and constant bickering, becoming less about writing for fun and more about winning and competition. With the shortage of good games now at an end, perfection became an expectation. The most insignificant detail could detract from the game and negate the entire experience. Anything less than spectacular and groundbreaking disappeared from discussion within a matter of 2-3 weeks (provided it even *got* any in the first place). Experimental works, deviating from the norm, were encouraged... so long as they turned out "good". People brought up the same tired topics over and over, never breaking any new ground. The discussion board was overrun with opinionated, intellectual snots who were quick to put down any story that wasn't "artsy" enough for them, or otherwise failed to live up to their lofty standards. And God help anyone who dared speak out in disagreement against their general consensus: They came down on such people and came down *hard*. Our young interactive-fiction author saw these problems and tried to tell the group how he felt, but was either ignored, or chastised for acting like a big baby. It was discouraging, but his genuine love of the medium kept him writing, and he squeezed out two more attempts in the next two years before finally admitting to himself he was wasting his time. In March of 1997 he told off the entire group and left in disgust amidst a flurry of flame-posts and hate-mails. For almost five months, he did no writing of any kind whatsoever. Then in August that year, he came across a website and found some fan-fiction for an animated TV show he'd recently come to cherish. He developed a quick story idea that had popped into his head and posted it. Again, people liked it a lot and sent comments, thank-yous, and encouragement. All was right with the world again. Inspired, the author began turning out more fan-fiction stories every two or three weeks. This week he wrote this essay you're reading. I'm not saying the "Daria" fan-fiction group has deteriorated as badly as that other group I used to haunt. But having seen this before, I recognize the early symptoms. The old debates that never go anywhere and that no one ever resolves, but we bring them up anyway ("shipper versus anti-shipper", "where is Lawndale", "Daria's religion", "is so-and-so really as mean, air-headed, whatever, as she appears", et cetera, ad nauseum). The increasing difficulty for new authors to get recognition amid a massive glut of stories. The recent trends toward "ranking" fanfics. I've felt the impact of a growing "Daria" fanfic base myself. The comments I used to receive don't seem to be arriving as much anymore. More authors means more interpretations means fewer ideas that no one else has already done. I tried, *God* did I try. I put twenty times the effort into "Fireworks", my latest (and very possibly my last) script, and I got a third as much feedback as I normally do. And, given my past experience, that's all it takes, one massive project whose rewards aren't nearly worth the effort I put into it, to make me stop and question whether any of this is even worth the trouble. I know I'm not alone. I get similar impressions from long-time authors, who send me e-mail asking for comments if I don't read and respond to their stories within 3-4 days. I see the posts by new authors clamoring for feedback, any feedback at all, and I know how frustrating it must be for them. This is exactly what I went through writing those games. Some authors are able to keep writing out of sheer love of doing it, and I know a few who would likely keep it up even if they knew no one was reading. I can't do that. Feedback is my lifeblood. Detailed feedback, not some two-word "great story" post. Balanced feedback, telling me what you liked as well as what you didn't: I've received a couple of e-mails lately from people who seem incapable of anything but complaining. "I really like your other stories, but here's everything that's wrong with this particular one, never mind the others." *Human* feedback, letting me know that perfection is *not* expected, that a story can be great and fun to read even if it has its share of weak points. The truth is, I'm becoming increasingly reminded of the group I left two and a half years ago. I feel like what I do doesn't matter to anyone anymore. The voice of the group seems, on a whole, more critical and less supportive, more demanding and less open-minded. Departures from the show's "canon" seem to be met with little tolerance, even if the author is on the "featured" page. I've seen a couple of uncalled-for comments on the board, citing elements in another author's fic as "stupid". These were from prominent members of the community, not some random lame-o flame-bait troll just out to pick a fight. The group's collective memory goes back about two months, anything older than that is forgotten and left to rot, buried within a mountain of similarly-ignored writings. I've taken the time to send comments to fellow authors about their work, even featured authors, and haven't received a reply for my trouble, or even a "Thanks." Six letters (five lowercase, one caps) and a period, people. How much effort can it *take?* I've hit burnout, fellow Darianites. I've felt the pressure to keep up with the discussion board, the constant stream of new fanfic, and my own offerings. I try to read everything. I have over 4 megs of unread fanfic piled up on my hard drive, and it grows bigger every week. I've tried to send detailed comments to everyone I've read, not just my long-time favorites. But I just can't do it anymore under these conditions. How to fix this? I wish I knew. Obviously I don't, or I would have solved it on the interactive-fiction group and might never have ended up coming here. Outpost's message board has shown a number of good starts. "Spotlights", collaborative efforts, the occasional review. I guess I'm kind of hoping we can go back to how it was when I first got here, where everybody said thanks for writing the story I read, and everybody else said thanks for reading the story I wrote. That's assuming, of course, that people still want other people reading and writing stories. Two weeks ago, I put everything Daria-related aside. I read some books. I cleaned the apartment from top to bottom. I reorganized my old-software collection (my *other* hobby, I do have other ways to spend my time). I did some cooking instead of eating take-out all the time. I spent quality couch-time with my kitty. I went to bed *without* my head feeling like it was about to explode from trying to think of fanfic ideas, and I actually *slept*. I kept assuring myself I'd start the fanfic up again as soon as I felt inspired and ambitious enough to do it, but you know what? The incentive has yet to return. I have a dozen reasons to give this up for good, and, at the moment, not one good one to continue. I do want to make it clear I'm not upset with any specific individuals, merely the tone of group as a whole and the direction it seems to be taking. You've got to understand I've been this way before, I've had these feelings before. And I will bail, rather than stick around to watch another favorite group completely go to hell. It's Thanksgiving, people. Let's show our fanfic authors that we're thankful for their efforts. -- C.E. Forman 11/20/99