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well is that all.
So it occurred to me that I'm flipping out kind of a lot over trying (trying is the operative word) to write Aral Vorkosigan slash with the intent of having other people read it and so on - if I have not frantically accosted you on IM to tell you all about it you are a) lucky! or b) my brother! or possibly both. I was having one of those conversations in my head where I try to articulate what my deal is, and I realized:
And that's without even getting into my larger relationship to the Vorkosigan books: The Vor Game was the third SF novel I ever read and the one that convinced me I wanted to keep reading science fiction and therefore, down the line, to write it. The Vorkosigan books were my first truly serious fandom and that fandom kindly raised me from a, ahem, really poorly socialized fifteen-year-old into, well, a much less poorly socialized twentysomething. I dressed as a Dendarii Mercenary for Halloween at school my sophomore year of high school, wearing a set of grays my mom made for me, modeled from the hand-drawn sketch on the bottom of a letter I received from Lois Bujold after writing the most gracelessly thirteen-year-old fan letter imaginable. I kept her letter on my bedroom wall until I moved out of my parents' house. The first time I went to a con of any kind it was to see Lois Bujold as a GoH. I spent at least five solid years starting conversations with "There was this conversation on the List" because there was only one mailing list I could possibly be talking about. (I didn't aspire so high as to be Cordelia when I grew up; I wanted to be
commodorified.) I spent years in a community of people who referred to the author unironically as Her Ladyship, and I will still use Herself to people who know who I mean. I don't think there are words to express how much I wouldn't be who I am without those books and the people who love them.
So, uh. Essentially what I am saying is that I am writing pornfiction of my own personal sacred foundational text. And apparently that's daunting.
I read Barrayar when I was about twelve, and Shards of Honor at thirteen. Aral Vorkosigan was probably my introduction to the very idea of bisexuality.
And that's without even getting into my larger relationship to the Vorkosigan books: The Vor Game was the third SF novel I ever read and the one that convinced me I wanted to keep reading science fiction and therefore, down the line, to write it. The Vorkosigan books were my first truly serious fandom and that fandom kindly raised me from a, ahem, really poorly socialized fifteen-year-old into, well, a much less poorly socialized twentysomething. I dressed as a Dendarii Mercenary for Halloween at school my sophomore year of high school, wearing a set of grays my mom made for me, modeled from the hand-drawn sketch on the bottom of a letter I received from Lois Bujold after writing the most gracelessly thirteen-year-old fan letter imaginable. I kept her letter on my bedroom wall until I moved out of my parents' house. The first time I went to a con of any kind it was to see Lois Bujold as a GoH. I spent at least five solid years starting conversations with "There was this conversation on the List" because there was only one mailing list I could possibly be talking about. (I didn't aspire so high as to be Cordelia when I grew up; I wanted to be
So, uh. Essentially what I am saying is that I am writing pornfiction of my own personal sacred foundational text. And apparently that's daunting.

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Also I am PRESENTLY VERY VERY RED FACED
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Well, you know--to split an only slightly alarmingly compartmentalized hair--the ambition to be Marna predated by a few years the very absorbing occupation of being Dira, which has indeed cured me of wanting to be anyone else. Or more of them than I am already. :)
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I, for one, no longer have much of a desire to be you when I grow up. Being in love with you turned out to be even better.
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Try pondering whom she wants to be when she grows up.
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Now I want to be Emma Goldman.
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I guess I should stop with the blusherie bulshit and learn to wear it as an honour. It's surprisingly hard.
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Being not eighteen anymore has also moved me along toward other ambitions. :)
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Congratulations, dearheart: you're a role model.
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But apparently it is in fact pretty tricky, in my brain. :)
Still, I just cracked 1100 words, so we're slowly but surely getting somewhere...
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Then I'd take a deep breath and remind myself how Bujold gives her protagonists other intimate and affectionate sexual relationships besides their main events all the time, as per the love life of Miles. Her characters are adults, with adult histories, even when they do end up with almost soul mates. That helped.
(Am I the only one who's wistfully wondering if there will be something between Armsman Roic and the local lad named Jin in the next book? Scratch this if Jin turns out to be, oh, I don't know, seven or something.)
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And, yeah, I really am not having any kind of interpersonal qualms about it at all (I mean, a) I am writing Aral/Jack Harkness, and Jack is a law unto himself, and b) this is set before Cordelia has even come on the scene--if Aral is cheating on anyone at all it's Ges and obviously that can only be a good thing...) it's just ... daunting.
Mind you, if I get around to writing the OTHER Aral slash I want to write, set during Vor Game...
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(The Vor Game? Now I'm allll curious.)
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Also, do feel free to hit me up on chat if you want to talk about it some more. Or need more pom-pom waving, whatever. ♥
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But I will totally find you on IM sometime, um, if our periods of wakefulness overlap. :)
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But I definitely do understand feeling that way about the books, and I'm thrilled to have written something that was so important to you. Thank you!
Now we all just have to hang on until next November...