404, dude

Still? I did a thing that may have been a fix.

I'm sitting down to write The Misery Effect, an essay about crazy fen, the ones who write hatemail in defense of a fictional character, who feel an unholy ownership over a show.

I hate this. It's Too Hard.

I hate this. It's Too Hard.

Because you have too many detailed examples?

Because you have too many detailed examples?

Because it's like shooting fish in a barrel, yes. Trying to make it interesting is difficult. I did an email interview with Jane Espenson and just got off the phone with Tim discussing this sort of thing, about the storyteller's responsibilities to the audience and vice versa, about power, about What Hurts and What Doesn't, and overall experiences with fandom.

But I put together an outline and found myself so acidic and angry, that I'm worried about why I'm taking it so seriously and it seems to just roll off their backs.

Which means getting personal about me. And That's Hard.

Back to the drawing board.

So I'm looking for thoughts on it.

Ah, the Irrational Investment issue. You have my sympathy, Allyson. I don't know how to talk about that without being too critical and implying that the crazy fen are, in fact, crazy.

I don't know how to talk about that without being too critical and implying that the crazy fen are, in fact, crazy.

That's not the part that's bothering me. What's bothering me is that I, too, am kraxy.

But I put together an outline and found myself so acidic and angry, that I'm worried about why I'm taking it so seriously and it seems to just roll off their backs.

See, this would be me, also. I just get so out of whack when people get possessive-crazy about characters that it makes me seem crazy. I can understand why it would be difficult.

Maybe because you identify with the writers and their craft as opposed to imaginary characters. There is probably some psychological term for this that I'm unaware of. For some folks they bond so much with the character that they simply can't deal with the reality of the story and the power that the writer has over them, the viewer.

Your protectiveness of the writers may be what's stumping your objectivity. I would guess that the writers who finally get on a show have been through so much that they've learned to not take such criticisms personally. I honestly don't know how they do it.

Ah, the Irrational Investment issue.

Fen can be crazy. The angle might be on the passion. How did that passion come about?

Hmm - when I really find myself going crazy getting two vitupirative about someone I try to stop, see things from their point of view and understand how I might have ended up like them. (Me fanatically crazy -such a stretch I know.)

This can also lead to very funny classic reductio absurdum biting humor. You don't have to actually suceed in empathizing with them; merely try. Anyway a possible approach.

How did that passion come about?

I suspect it's out of loneliness. Though I'm sure many will pop up and disagree, loneliness is why we seek out friends and try to make connections with other people.

The people in the teevee box come and hang out with us every week without fail, always on time. We want to engage with the characters and escape into their world, and in order to do that, we have to suspend disbelief for a time.

I think there's a short circuit when reality comes charging in and that suspension wire snaps, and we lose that character, or the character takes an unexpected turn.

It's supposed to be a little like losing a friend, and grief over that loss is warranted. But when that 46 minutes is up, for some folks, especially for the lonely who sought that outlet for relief of pain in some way, the grief becomes anger and there's no outlet for that emotion.

You can't really call in sick and say, "Doyle died, and I just can't get out of bed." It's not supposed to be that hard. But for some people it is. And when they get all rage-bomb at the writers, I feel offended and angry and protective of them. Because they're real, and I'm grateful to them for the 46 minutes of escapism. But then I want to have pie with my friend ita and talk about that and about boys and politics and stuff.

So why get mad at the kraxyfen? I don't get mad at the stinky homeless dude who hangs out at Albertson's and has arguments with the soda machine.

I think I get mad at them because I'm more like them than I'd care to admit.