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So I don't know how many people are going to take the time to see this, but I feel like in this specific situation I just want to throw out a lot of thank yous.
I've been a bit busy with life, and I've been a little busy with working on a new Johnny/Dally story I'll talk about in a bit, so I haven't had the time to properly write this out. And I don't really know where to start, but I'll just say this:
I started this story around one year and a half ago, or maybe even two years ago. I got a few chapters in before I decided to release it, and I don't really know the reason why. I wish I could just write for myself, and sometimes I do, but often I write with the intention of reviving the fandom. For days I indulged in fanfic after fanfic on archive and eventually there was no more content to consume. Fics would only pop up every few months or so, even longer than that maybe. And only the same writers would update consistently, but there were often many unfinished fics and many favorite authors of mine who finished after a few one-shots. I found that reading fanfic inspired me to write, and I hoped that, even with a mediocre fic, I could inspire a few people myself who could in turn inspire more people themselves.
That was a main reason for publishing this. Another is that I just wanted to get my work out there. The thing is, I want to be a novelist, and I feel like seeing how my writing is perceived is crucial. Releasing fanfic is almost like a bit of beta-testing. I want to see what people think about my character development work, and my pacing, and the way I convey emotion. I know that no one is going to give me a detailed critique on what I got right or wrong, but just seeing people's reactions can allow me to see certain things I manage to write better than others. And another reason why this is kind of important to me is the fact that this isn't the first fanfic I've published. Back when I was 11 or 12 I got into the Disney fandom and I released a lot of cringey work on the app where gods roam, Wattpad. Cranking out fanfiction again helps me see the improvement I've made in my writing.
And here's another thing, a lot of emotions I convey are usually ones that I personally experience. As a closeted person myself who lives in fear of being disowned and unloved, I enjoy to write about characters who I find myself relating to in fiction. SE Hinton wrote about a straight, white kid who got abused by his drunk, deadbeat dad and beat because he was poor. But I, as well as a few other people, saw a kid of color who was hurt by his parents and society because he was gay. There's a lot of relatability to tap into when you're given a situation like that, even to people who haven't previously experienced that kind of trauma.
So there's a few things I tried to convey with this story: internalized homophobia, some hinted racism, child abuse, suicide, and even more things that are hard to talk about and write about. I tried to understand that trauma often leads to people who feel broken, and that people who feel broken often act out in violent and cruel ways. In the end, I feel that I paid more attention and care to Dallas and his character development, only because I find myself looking for more meaning and sympathy behind less than ideal characters. However, that means that I portrayed Johnny as an almost ideal person with little to no flaws. If there's one thing about this story I could redo, it would be that.
But, in the end, the story's protagonist isn't Johnny. It's Dallas, and he has the most important character arc to go through. Johnny has to come to terms with his homosexuality and accept himself, but Dallas has to realize how to be open and not close himself off- because he now knows that when he's too reserved and cold, he can hurt people. And, though they don't get together in the end, they both learn how to be content in what they have, and they both understand how they can help each other out by being good friends. It's like a love story, with a lot of other depressing factors in play.
Also, another detail I added that not many people seemed to notice was the way names were used. Whenever the story was in Dally's point of view he was referred to as Dallas, when it was Johnny's point of view he was referred to as Dally. I think I did that to convey how they both see Dally. He sees himself as a cold-hearted guy who lacks the ability to be sentimental, while Johnny sees him as quite the opposite. Was that conveyed well? I don't really know, but it was a fun thing to keep track of.
And that's all I really want to talk about in this little closing statement. But another thing I feel is important is that I'm working on another multi-chapter fanfic! I doubt it will be ready to be published for a while, but hopefully I'll have the time soon. Right now, I'm making sure to get my outline of the story done and I've already finished the first chapter and a bit of the second. So even if not many people care, I'd like to give a bit of a sneak peek! So here's the synopsis and my favorite bit of the written story so far:
Dallas Winston is the has-been he always knew he would be, he’s a 22-year-old who hates his life and can already see signs of a receding hairline. And on a day as bland as ever, where he expects nothing interesting to happen, a boy walks into his life and the convenience store he works at. Before he knows it, he’s giving him a ride and the most energy he’s had in years. He thought wild, eccentric strangers are the kinds of people you only meet in sappy movies, and all of a sudden this kid is turning his life into some cheesy rom-com.
In the summer of 1985, my dad caught me sneaking out of the house. I was 15 and terribly impulsive, filled with rebellion that overflowed from my personality to my tattered jeans. My old man blocked the front door of our house, anger was etched in every wrinkle that painted his face. I had never known him to be easily upset, throughout my life he had always been a dispassionate figure in my mind, a cold-blooded bastard.
But there he was, scolding me like I was a baby. Yelling at me like he cared for me in a way he never did as I grew up. It made me immensely angry, and in no time I matched his volume and we both screamed until our throats became hoarse. We probably woke the entire house up, though neither of us cared in the moment.
I remember that he asked me, “Do you know what good sneaking out and getting drunk and high will do you? Nothing! Is that what you want to be when you grow up? A lazy-ass, nothing who doesn’t do anything with his life?”
I told him, very clearly and enunciating every obscene word, “I don’t give a fucking shit!”