The Subtle Art of the Request.

For those of you who don’t know, I have a fanfiction account. It was neglected for a long time, and then I got this idea, and I had to write it, and then one thing led to another and now I am in the middle of another story, which is over 50k long and shows no sign of winding to a close any time soon (I mean, in terms of story, we’re about to get into the real plotty part).

But anyway. I digress.

Fanfiction.net has been an experience. Mostly a good one, I have to say, although that could be because I’m hanging out in a fandom which seems to have a core of really good writers, and not so many of the sort of fic where you read it and then go grab the eyebleach. While reading (too many) fics recently, I have noticed that some are written as commissions, or as requests, or in response to prompts. I though it was interesting, but ultimately didn’t really pay it that much attention.

And then last night, someone sent me a PM requesting that I write a fic. And I was hugely flattered, because I literally have three fics on the site and two of them are 5k and under, and holy shit SOMEONE IS PAYING ME ATTENTION! FEED MY WRITERLY EGO, PEON! So I replied, and said, well, depending on what it is, I don’t see why not. And I asked what they wanted me to write, including the disclaimer that hey, I will readily agree that I don’t have so much writing time at the moment.

What did they request, you ask? An AU version of the first series of Digimon Adventure. Now. This made me pause a moment. A very “what the fuck?” moment. But, you know, I’m new to all this requesting stuff, and maybe I just misunderstood, right? So I tap out a message asking if they mean the whole series, or just, say, a specific part of it.

They want the WHOLE DAMN SERIES.

Here’s the thing.

This person has not been rude. They’ve not been especially polite either (we’re talking a bare minimum of words in the PMs), but they’re just asking. They’re not demanding or anything like that. It’s a question, not “urh, you have to do this or you suck”.

But.

It really makes me think about how much people take for granted. I mean, this person who knows nothing about me save for the little bio on my about page, has requested that I spend I don’t even know how long writing a fic about an entire, 54-episode anime series. Based on, presumably, one (unfinished!) fic that I’ve been writing.

Sure, you can argue that it’s a great compliment. That hey, I enjoy writing anyway and it’s not like I have to say yes. The fact is, as it happened I had an idea lurking in the back of my mind that the prompt sparked a little anyway, so you could even make the argument that it’s something I would probably have written at some point even without the request.

But really, if I write that fic. If I write an AU version of the entire first series of Digimon, that’s the work of hundreds of hours. For a fanfiction which I can’t really benefit from save for a “yay me” if people leave positive feedback.

Don’t get me wrong here, I am currently writing a hella long fic for the fun of it, which I have never expected to get anything for. I don’t mind writing for no gain. I love writing. But I remain very uncomfortable with the attitude that allows someone to ask a person they don’t even know – with no preamble – to make that kind of commitment to something. For nothing.

I mean, just… this is the commissioning/fic request equivalent of bumping into someone on the street and going down on one knee there and then. There’s nothing wrong with proposing. There’s nothing wrong with requesting a fic. But you know, there’s a teensy bit of interaction which reeeeally should happen first. With the proper context, everything is hunky dory.

Without it, at best you come off as a bit of a twat. At worst, you’re going to make people feel really awkward and uncomfortable. Either way, it’s fucking rude, peeps. Let’s not do this thing, yeah? CONTEXT. CONTEXT IS GOOD.

Self-Doubt

I’ve had some time to think about my appointment with the neurologist now, and to be honest, I’m more confused than ever. I went into the appointment somewhat resigned to having new tablets lined up in front of me, and I walked out with a completely different answer.

I knew before that not all of my seizures were caused by epilepsy, and hey, I can cope with that, even if every doctor ever seems to give me a different explanation for the phenomenon, and a different name. So far the one common label I’ve been handed (amongst a myriad of differing descriptors) is “dissociative seizures”, so I’ll stick with it for now, although I have no idea if that gives the condition I have a name at all. The impression I got the other week was that this whole aspect is a dawning revelation to the medical profession, having arrived only in the last few years. I’ve yet to brave google with any real seriousness and try to find out much more than a basic descriptor.

I guess the trouble I have with the latest prognosis – and I’d like to stress that it is a minor trouble – is how this will affect the way other people view me. At the moment, I still have the “epilepsy” tag hovering around me – that first EEG had its pesky unusual activity associated with a myoclonic jerk (the one seizure type which has pretty much stopped since I started taking Keppra). For that reason, the neurologist doesn’t want me to stop taking the tablets yet, even though I am probably taking far more than is necessary to stop what I used to call my “twitches”. But I walked away (stupidly, really; I was caught up in the excitement that I might, at last, have an “answer”) without actually knowing what is “wrong” with me any more. Do I really have epilepsy? Don’t I? Am I just suffering from a dramatic reaction to stress? I should have asked her to clarify what this would mean about my current diagnosis. Was I misdiagnosed? Or was the emphasis just in the wrong place? Where do I stand now?

None of it makes me feel particularly good about myself at the moment. I mean, I guess I’m reasonably sure I actually do have epilepsy, because my notes mention an EEG picking up “spike and wave” activity, which my epilepsy nurse told me was very typical of an epileptic myoclonic jerk. So the good news, I guess you could say, is that it’s looking increasingly as though the epilepsy side is pretty darn well controlled. The bad news, of course, is that what’s left is looking unlikely to have a simple solution such as the right medication. As long as it might have taken to find the right combination of drugs, that hope was there. Dealing with something that is entirely psychological is different, and far less predictable. My life isn’t exactly short on stress, so I’ve got my work cut out for me.

The other thing which worries me is the perception of it. Epilepsy is misunderstood, but telling someone I have seizures which are not even identifiable as that? I’ve had people accuse me of “faking it” before, as though I’m some masochist who enjoys injuring myself and sabotaging my hopes of having a stable job. As awful as epilepsy is, at least it’s a known and medically (if not casually) understood thing. Now I’m looking at something which is altogether more tenuous and indistinct, with its causes and mechanics still not fully understood. Suddenly I feel even more vulnerable. This seems to have all the disadvantages of epilepsy – involuntary seizures, no driving, massive, regular interruptions to my lifestyle – but with none of the explanations that can help me, and those around me, really understand it. It’s not a recognised anything it seems. There’s now a hugely irrational part of me wondering: “What if everyone just tells me to chin up and stop mucking about? What if they don’t believe me when I say I can’t help it?”

I think I really need to see this specialist. Next time, I’m going in with a checklist, and I’m going to come out armed with as much information as I can muster. I can’t live with all these maybes hovering around me. I just want to know what’s wrong, and what I can do to try and “fix” myself.

Late Nights

It’s one o’ clock in the morning. (Thereabouts.) Normally, by this point, I would be asleep.

However, seeing as I’m not, I thought it a good opportunity to continue the musings of earlier, to the relaxing sound of Brahms’ Lullaby on repeat (courtesy of YouTube). M won’t go to sleep, you see. It’s a modern parenting thing, honest…

Anyway. Yes, musing. I think the chief difficulty is that there is so much that I need/want/crave to be foing outside the house at the moment, and 95% of it is on hold because I am still having seizures daily. The one I had earlier involved a lot of what, were I religious, could be described as speaking in tongues. I apparently told W that I itched inside, and wanted to run and run. I probably also told him a great many other ridiculous things, but the running part sticks in my mind.

I had planned to run in the Race for Life this year, until the Gall Bladder episode put an end to that. (Still, next year, eh?) I planned to do a lot of outdoor activities, including buggy walks, taking O and M to the park, walks along the river, that sort of thing. Instead, I am sat here most days, inside a fairly small house, with everywhere and yet nowhere to go.

Leaving the house is like an expedition to the Sinai sometimes. Have I got my bag, yes. Coat? Phone? Am I feeling okay? Keys? Epilepsy card? Am I sure I’m feeling okay? Do I need an umbrella? Have I got the changing bag for O/M if I am taking them? Am I really really sure I’m okay? And I’ll only be going straight to that one shop and then home again, right? And I’ll have my phone on and in my pocket, and will answer it this time, right? Right? Okay, then out the door, no stress, no pressure, just going for a quick jaunt to one shop and one shop only and then straight home again before I fall down and start telling people the sky is green and pink at the same time. (No, seriously, if you are nuts enough to look at the sky on a clear day for long enough, this optical illusion actually happens. Blame my sixteen-year-old self for being boring and not kissing boys.)

The whole palaver does make me reluctant to go out though. It gets to the point where it’s just so much hassle, even for things which are relatively run of the mill, such as taking O and M to parent and toddler groups. Some days I just can’t muster the enthusiasm. It’s just another day, just another group, and tomorrow I’ll be just as incapable of doing things other people take for granted, like being spontaneous.

I bought myself some cheap earrings today, just because I was walking past the shop and there was a sale. I honestly can’t remember the last time I was out in town and I just decided to go and buy something like that, and W wasn’t there with me, being all manly and not understanding window-shopping at all. It was just a few precious minutes, but it was for me, and it was spontaneous.

I miss that the most, I think.