#introductions time :)
I'm Aria, I'm going to use this account for some of the writing I've been doing lately. I'm working on what I keep saying is a teen transgender urban fantasy.
I read a ton of science fiction, and have a complicated relationship with fantasy. I'm hoping I can build a world I like. Other people too, we'll see.
So who likes magic systems, video game references, ensemble casts, and thinks teenagers are actual people?
And it had so many small wonderful moments: Authors unashamedly talking about the stuff they've put on AO3; queer folks talking about their weird-ass families they've built; a moment where someone suggests that a heist works in any genre and someone says 'what about utopian fiction' and without missing a beat, a panelist replies 'That's "How the Grinch Stole Christmas"' to uproarious laughter.
So I'm starting to unpack my brain after readercon. I didn't have to travel home so maybe I get a head start here.
So much good conversation. How do we portray a post-police world in our writing? How can we guide the world through the climate catastrophe we've created? What parts of history have we ignored and misplaced?
What I love most is how much it's a feminist conference, a justice conference, dressed up as a genre fiction conference.
Google still keeps a list of everything you ever bought using Gmail, even if you delete your emails
"It also says you can delete this log by deleting the email, but three weeks after we deleted all email, the list is still there."
I finally wrote a test scene to develop my antagonist a bit. I really like her and her world, but I'm not sure it fits with my world yet. Always the tough decisions there, one's darlings and all.
Anyone have any reactions? Love it? Hate it? Want to know more? Trite? Confusing?
Marianna helped untangle the elbow trapped in the shirt. There was another scar there, too, and she winced a little seeing it. The shirt landed with a plop on the linoleum, and there she was, as half-dressed as she was, still dripping wet but looking as scared as she was, and now just as vulnerable.
She would feel shy, but she had already cried in front of her, twice, and been angry and ashamed and that was even more bare than being naked. She peeled off the sopping wet shirt, and she went to rummage in the basket of laundry for a new one, and another to share. Danica followed suit but got stuck half way out of her shirt, tangled in the cord around her neck and the cloying wet fabric.
“It was a—c-car.” She found the word, finally, and relaxed just a little. Marianna pushed the shame that welled up away. She had been so angry, and so hurt and it was all so petty. “It was a—c-car.” She said it again like she was trying to make the word stick and it just wouldn’t. “I came here first, after. I just—g-got here.”
The tears flooded back and Marianna swallowed the wave that threatened to inundate her if she didn’t move. It would come again later. Now she knew what she had to do.
“I—” she faltered again, and the same panicked look crossed her face, like she was looking desperately for something and couldn’t find it. She pulled the bandana back. Where her curls had been on the right side of her, there was a fuzzy patch of hair, not quite a centimeter long, cut on one side of her head. Not carefree cut away, a summer haircut, but haphazard, like something else was more important and the hair was in the way.
Underneath she could see the jagged pink mark of a scar.
“I—” Danica faltered, that moment of panic showing and she couldn’t hide behind the bandana. It started to get away from her before she caught it. “I was going to find you the next day. I was ashamed, just for a minute. I was scared.”
Marianna watched her fish around for the cord around her neck, chasing it around inside her wet clothes. The skate key was still there, and next to it a hospital bracelet.
Marianna stopped short. The sheer ridiculousness of the situation struck her. She was sopping wet in the rain while she wanted nothing more than to yell at her, that she wasn’t the meek barista from the spring anymore, but she was, she was the same person, and she was angry, and she was hurt, and the woman she had fallen madly, helplessly in love with was in front of her, sopping wet like she was, and the first thing she said to explain made no sense.
"I came here first." It made no sense. First when? After abandoning her? After shaking off a kiss and not having a chance to figure out what that meant? After the most wonderful day of her life? Marianna'd been here for months, every day, and this woman who she couldn't stop caring about for even a second said she was first like that made any sense?
"Where were you?!" It came out angry, all the tired and lonely and bitter hope of the summer flooded out of her at once. "Where were you!? I waited for you!"
"I—" She cut Danica off.
"I waited for you, and then I hoped it was you, then I tried to give up on you. It was the best day of my life, and you ruined it." She didn't mean that, but she wanted the words to hurt. She wanted them to hurt as much as her heart had.
She was glad she knew the way home so well. She was more or less blind, between the rain and the tears. She tripped on the first step up to the apartment, but caught herself before stumbling into someone sitting on the stairs.
“Took you long enough!”
She wiped at her glasses. Danica still wore all black and she was soaking wet, She had her hair pulled back with the bandana, but where curls usually escaped, trickles of water were running down her face.
Writing a teen transgender urban fantasy. Ask me about it.
I study natural language processing, parsing, & graph theory.
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