I’m done, mostly, writing Osa Bella.
(If you don’t know what Osa Bella is, it’s an epic Twilight fan fiction–all 162k words of it–that I spent, oh sheesh, EIGHT MONTHS writing and posting online for all the world to read.)
This is my remorse post. My omgwtfbbq have I done? post.
Because I have the distinct feeling that nothing will ever be the same now.
I’m not afraid to tell you, I think Osa Bella kicks ass. It’s by no means perfect, but with another rewrite (or ten), would probably be something quite good, able to hold its own on any bookshelf. But as it is, flaws and all (and there are plenty) I still really believe this story is solid, even if there are places the writing is meh. There aren’t many spots where the writing makes me cringe, anyway. If you want to read Osa Bella, you can do that at Fanfiction.net (good for reading on your phone or iPod) or download the .pdfs from Osabella.mygdala.com, but be warned now, there are some fairly graphic sex scenes in it. It is most certainly not intended for readers under the age of 18, or anyone who might blush if they see me in person.
In any case, now that I’ve written it, I think I might have broken some part of my brain because all I want to do now is write. I’ve never done anything in my life that felt so very me.
I know that’s not exactly a problem requiring such a strong feeling as remorse, but I have to make a living. If I’d written a story that was not so immersed in the Twilight universe as Osa Bella is, I would be able to send this out to agents and publishers and I wouldn’t be surprised if someone, somewhere, showed an interest. But as it is there’s no hope of that. So I’ve got to write something else now.
That’s not a problem either, actually. The problem is this: when I become completely absorbed in crafting a story, my mind becomes largely unavailable to do the things that put bread and milk and diet cokes and turkey burgers on the table. And that is my first job–to provide for my family.
So I’ve been transformed into something that feels really good, and out of something I need to be. Which is a breadwinner.
And there it is.
I’m trying very hard not to consider myself fucked.
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| (D.S. al coda to the be grateful part through the resent it part. Repeat daily forever and ever.)
Doot, right about here you are wondering why I’m holding a camera, and not a bowl of Sweet Potatoes. Right after this was taken, no doubt a memo of protest was drafted and landed in my inbox, but it’s all fuzzy now because this is my fifth month straight of pulling triple shifts with my colleague in this Doot and Bing Raising enterprise, your father.
I am stuck in traffic and my baby boys are in the back seat. We were in some weird dream car that only had primer for paint and was sort of like an enormous El Camino (which I don’t even think have back seats, but whatever). I made a wrong turn in trying to get around the traffic and found myself stuck on a road, going the wrong way, unable to turn around and having pissed off a few drivers in the process. Next thing I know, I’m in the passenger’s seat and there’s a 400 pound man driving my car. He manages to get the car turned around, going back in the right direction. However, while we’re stopped at a traffic light, I politely tell him that we’ll be getting out of the car now, and he grabs my wrist tight and says, “Oh no you won’t.” And that’s when I realize he intends to rape me, right there in front of the kids. I stay cool and begin looking for a way to escape with the kids and then realize I can’t escape with the kids unless I kill this guy. I start looking for something in the car to stab or bludgeon him with and realize that I might be convicted of manslaughter and have my kids taken away if I kill him before he rapes me. Just as I begin to panic, I wake up.
