June 2013
electro-bosque: amazonpoodle: There is one very specific aspect of what’s going down... →
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There is one very specific aspect of what’s going down in fandom right now that just boggles my mind, and that is very simply that even if I put aside my personal opinion on issues of the fandom-mainstream fourth wall and/or appropriate creator-fandom interactions, one of the first things I ever learned in my first writing class was that what I write does not belong to me.
So it was 2003, right? I was fifteen years old, almost sixteen, and I was taking an intensive fiction-writing class during the summer, for funsies, like the gigantic nerd I was (am). My class was given a new short-story assignment each week, and at the end of the week we each made enough copies of our story for the entire class and spent a full day editing and critiquing.
When it was my turn to have my story raked across the coals — and I think it’s worth noting, just so you understand that fifteen-year-old-me had uncommonly strong feelings about what she’d written, that my first short story was an extremely painful account of how my dad had died less than six months earlier, thinly disguised as fiction — this is what I, like every other teenager in my class, had to do:
I sat in a circle made up of professor, T.A., and about fifteen people my age (some of whom I liked and/or respected, and some of whom I sincerely believed had the reading comprehension and original thinking ability of banana slugs), and let those seventeen separate people talk to me and to each other about what I’d written. They went through this story that plugged directly into my heart (and which, by the way, nobody knew had any basis in reality), and talked about my grammar, my word choice, my plot arc, the humanity of my characters, how believable the story was, the subtext they read there, their speculations about what I’d been trying to say, and their recommendations for improvement…
…and I wasn’t allowed to say anything unless somebody asked me a direct question. No arguing. No corrections.
That was really fucking hard, okay? Aside from being hella humbling, it was excruciating. I had people telling me they didn’t really buy that the main character would act that way; or that such-and-such sequence of events didn’t make sense, narratively speaking; or that they really liked such-and-so antagonist; or that they found this symbolism unnecessarily convoluted or that subtext evocative. And it was my job, as a writer who had completed a text and given it away, to listen to what they were saying and take notes of my own and keep my mouth shut, even as part of my brain was shrieking stuff like, OF COURSE THE MAIN CHARACTER WOULD ACT THAT WAY BECAUSE THAT IS WHAT I ACTUALLY DID! THAT IS THE ORDER THINGS ACTUALLY HAPPENED IN! THAT PERSON MADE MY LIFE A LIVING HELL AND I THINK IT’S FUCKING SICK THAT YOU LIKE THEM! I DIDN’T PUT ANY SYMBOLISM OR SUBTEXT IN THIS STORY, IT IS LITERAL AS FUCK!
But I did it, okay, and I got exactly what I wanted, which was a) some goddamn catharsis, b) what would eventually become a pretty fucking baller short story and c) to learn as much as I could about my own weaknesses and strengths as a writer.
Once you have written something and somebody else has read it or had it read to them or performed it or seen it performed, that thing does not belong to you anymore. This is Writing 101, guys. This is Creative Anything 101. This is SO BASIC. People will ask questions you think are irrelevant; they’ll fixate on details you threw in there on a whim; they’ll berate the characters you love and overidentify with and put the most effort into portraying, and they’ll love the characters you created as villains or cannon fodder. They’ll miss what you thought was the most beautiful part of your story, or the most important part. They’ll see symbolism that you think is bullshit and subtext that goes directly against what you intended to get across. They’ll see some oppressive bullshit you sure as fuck didn’t mean to put in there. They may even imagine things about you and what you were thinking and what you were trying to say. They will MAKE SHIT UP. And here’s the thing: they won’t be wrong.
It is not a good writer’s business to wade into a discussion of something they’ve created to ~correct~ people. Once you are done writing something, it stands on its own whether you want it to or not. You don’t get to get mad at your beta and/or your audience for not reacting exactly the way you wanted. If you find yourself feeling like you have to explain or correct something after someone’s made their own analysis of it, your first reaction doesn’t need to be “they probably read it wrong” but could possibly stand to be “maybe I wrote it wrong”. What you find yourself wanting to add or correct in the discussion is something that should have spoken for itself in the text. By all means, answer questions when they are put to you directly! But you can’t (and shouldn’t try to) chase down every copy of your text in the whole world and correct the notes people have made in the margins. That would be ridiculous.
So aside from the fact that I think that creators walking into fandom and throwing their weight around re: fans’ opinions of dialogue, characterization, plot arc, the actors’ talent, or anybody’s overall intentions is bullying, disrespectful, and almost sublimely missing the point of what fandom is, it’s also a fucking neon green sign of hubris, immaturity, and POOR AUTHORSHIP.
Reblogging as a note-to-self. I’ve been too easy on myself lately w/r/t writing and clarity. :\
If folks don’t understand what happens in a scene, I wrote it poorly.
This was so wonderful to read: "A dwarf's perspective on Tyrion Lannister"
This is a post I found on Reddit’s /r/asoiaf section. While it’s more of a feelings post rather than meta, It was a really rewarding post to read through because I am pretty sure this is the only time i’ve been able to read a post where the author can actually attest to experiencing what Tyrion has firsthand. Almost all posts regarding the character come from able bodied people, and on tumblr they can be particularly ugly/gross/dismissive. I thought that some of you on Tumblr might like to read it as well. The OP/source is here
A few years ago I was out to coffee with my mother. We each brought a book as we usually do, and I was diving into a fantasy novel recommended by a friend. I read for a while, thoroughly engaged until I stopped abruptly. Well Shit A dwarf character. This did not bode well. I’m a dwarf, to be more specific I’m a picky, cantankerous dwarf. I’ve read dozens of books that tackle disabled characters, most of which were laughably terrible at capturing our experience. Some chose to fetishize the disability, contorting the character into some barely recognizable stereotype. Others de-emphasize the disability to the point that it may as well be hair color, some irrelevant trait of little interest. Neither does justice to the dwarf experience. So, when I discovered Tyrion I proceeded with trepidation, a hesitancy which lasted all of half a chapter. After only a few pages I realized I was reading perhaps the greatest, and most realistic disabled character I’ve ever read.
Tyrion’s experience, his language, his perspective was so shockingly true that I was taken aback. Throughout the book, Tyrion deals with issues intimately familiar to dwarfs. He struggles with self-hate, frustration, humiliation, an intense desire to be loved, prevailing feelings of otherness. Tyrion demonstrates traits so often cultivated by the dwarf experience, wit and self-deprivation, an insatiable desire to fill a space with one’s personality. More than anything else, one line of advice in the series speaks to the most frustrating, sometimes heartbreaking aspect of life as a dwarf:
Never forget what you are, for surely the world will not. Make it your strength. Then it can never be your weakness. Armor yourself in it, and it will never be used to hurt you.Game of Thrones-Jon (I)
*The truth of it is this: To be a dwarf is to be burdened with certain preconceived cultural conceptions of dwarfism, making it in some ways a continual performance. *This performance is in my experience unavoidable. The dwarf as a source of tragedy or comedy is a very, very old idea. Going back to the origins of modern drama with Commedia Dell Arte, the dwarf has served as a source of either comedic relief or poignant tragedy. The Italian playLes Gobbiin the 1500’s utilized a variety of dwarf actors, each serving as absurd caricatures of difference preconceived elements of the dwarf. The tropes are many and enduring.
The dwarf as the sexual deviant, a conniving Imp driven by lusts and a gross desire to possess and destroy the beautiful. The dwarf as a tragic figure, god’s cruel jest, a pitiful creature who may find some semblance of revenge in the third act. The comic dwarf, the happy sprite who spreads cheer and lightens dramatic tensions, magical and sexless, perhaps offering some encouragement and inspiration as needed. These shallow dramatic conventions endure, and have seeped into the zeitgeist. In fact, these dramatic conventions are so well established people seem to expect to see them exhibited in real dwarfs, both in RL and in ASOIF. A dwarf can never just buy some socks, no act is neutral. A dwarf must either comically struggle in a mis-sized world, or buy socks as a heartbreaking testament to the unbreakable nature of the human spirit. The first seems more popular in Westeros, the latter the narrative of choice in RL. Dwarfs, disabled people in general are never allowed an act of banality. Everything is either comic, tragic, or an inspiration, we are perpetual actors in narrative not of our making. We are continually cast in these roles, and in modern life we all seem to cope in different ways. (As opposed to what dwarfs did for most of history IE. Get eaten or thrown down a well.)
Some dwarfs ignore these tropes, instead living their lives simply as they would, with little concern to what others expect of them. Others still passionately hate these stereotypes, and try to living in opposition to them. They strive to break preconceived notions, to present a decidedly different idea of what being a dwarf means. Yet another sub-group takes a unique approach, the approach I have endorsed my whole life.
Tyrion knows his lot. He understands what being a dwarf means in his world. He has decided to embody these tropes, to accentuate the very real elements of comedy, tragedy and perversity which are inherent to the disable experience. He has adopted these roles, as protection in a world full to the brim with inhumanity. He becomes what others believe him to be, thus protecting the most vulnerable parts of himself. Tyrion is heart-breakingly lonely, profoundly unsatisfied with life, desperate to be seen as a full person. Yet as a kind of consolation, he has come to find some enjoyment in playing the motley fool, the perverse and lustful Imp, a fearless half-man of infinite wit. I think he even performs for himself, indulging in melodrama within his own internal monologue. (Ask “Where do whores go?” one more goddamned time…)
Now I’m no Tyrion. I’m obviously far less intelligent, if not slightly redeemed by my having a nose. We do share a great deal however. I too have found a kind of peace in embracing the roles others would force on me. If I am to be cast as the jester, then I shall play the role as best I can. There is a kind of refuge in embracing and transforming expectations, filling a role that is larger and older then yourself. Public attention and gawking is just a part of being a dwarf. It is far better than to yell “Look at me!”, command a room, and seize control of the moment. I’m intrinsically tragic, intrinsically comic, these are true element my life extended to their greatest extent. I can no more escape these roles then escape my disability. I’ve tried to explore these expectations, and turn them to my advantage. Learning to play with this narrative, to inhabit all that comes with this role is deeply satisfying. It is appropriation of a sort. That I imagine is a part of the appeal for Tyrion.
There is a form of liberation to be found in performance, even if it is in a role forced upon us. It is better to make people laugh then be laughed at, to attract attention by our words then our form. Agency is an infinitely valuable commodity, an all too rare thing for people with disabilities during any time. It allows for a transformation, a special kind of magic unique to being a dwarf. The world is our audience, paradoxically quick to listen intently to what we have to say, and just as quick to dismiss it.
Every dwarf may be a bastard, but we are all equally the clown, the tragic foil, the monster, and yes the Imp. I feel as if I’ve inherited a unique role, passed down for centuries. An odd sort of inheritance I’ll grant you, but one that can be absurdly fun. So when I saw George R.R Martin’s take on the dwarf experience, I immediately placed him as one of the greatest writers of our time, possessing a unique creative empathy so central to this series.
Tyrion as a character has made me better understand being a dwarf, and come to more fully appreciate its unique value as an experience. He has taught me to better appreciate my gifts, and cultivate them. For better or worse, my disability dominates who I am. I am a dwarf. I’ll play the role as best as I am able, enjoy every capricious minute, and ride my dog into the sunset.
TL’DR: Tyrion is easily one of the best representations of the dwarf experience precisely because he acknowledges the roles others would place on him. His life becomes in essence a performance, transcending and transforming the tired tropes forced upon him by the ignorant.
Edit: Thanks to everyone who took the time to read this. I know its a bit long, but your guys have been incredible. Night!
Edit Again: I thought this was incredibly relevant, The Original Lion of Lannister: Dwarf sitting on the floor by Diego Velazquez (1645)http://i.imgur.com/0TWowPH.jpg