Allah loves wondrous varieties
As is often the case, I've been thinking about differences.
It's one of the primary sources of my stories. Not the only one, but a pretty persistent one - I've been holding interest in differences since before I learned to write (at age 4). You could say I'm the sort of girl who holds the front row tickets to the freak show, if you want to be mean.
Most of my fiction, and a lot of the fiction I read, is about people who are different somehow. Slash. Cripfic. Supernatural stuff. And when I browse through stories looking for my fix, it bothers me that half of the time people don't care what these differences really mean, apart from a source of angst. And I know Doyle and Cyclops and Ike and the others sometimes wish things were different, nothing wrong with that, but since they're not - what does that mean?
I collect tidbits of that sort of information or speculation with endless fascination. Hank is blue and furry, but his cock is black and hairless. Clark comes with the force of a bullet. Logan Cale doesn't sweat beneath injury level. Excellent. That's what I want to know. And if I can, I'll explore it myself, in mind or physically. When Min wrote "Showering Blind", I did, to see what it was like. It wasn't all that different, really. And all the things I've done one-handed for the sake of Lindsey and others!
Doyle doesn't like his demon side, and that's okay to explore, but when all is said and done those spikes and red eyes must be there for a reason, right? They didn't just pop out to make him look ugly. I think it's even questionable if he *is* ugly. There's no point in blaming a donkey because it doesn't look like a zebra.
It's even more noticeable in cripfics. "We still love you, in spite of what has happened. And now, just to prove it, we're taking the problem away!" I hate that. I don't deny that disabilities are traumatising at first and continue to be a pain in the ass, but normality and happiness isn't the same thing. It's like the 19th century belief that black people become white in heaven.
I'm aware that Alison Lapper gets back pains, on top of all other troubles. But I persist in my right to find her beautiful.
It's one of the primary sources of my stories. Not the only one, but a pretty persistent one - I've been holding interest in differences since before I learned to write (at age 4). You could say I'm the sort of girl who holds the front row tickets to the freak show, if you want to be mean.
Most of my fiction, and a lot of the fiction I read, is about people who are different somehow. Slash. Cripfic. Supernatural stuff. And when I browse through stories looking for my fix, it bothers me that half of the time people don't care what these differences really mean, apart from a source of angst. And I know Doyle and Cyclops and Ike and the others sometimes wish things were different, nothing wrong with that, but since they're not - what does that mean?
I collect tidbits of that sort of information or speculation with endless fascination. Hank is blue and furry, but his cock is black and hairless. Clark comes with the force of a bullet. Logan Cale doesn't sweat beneath injury level. Excellent. That's what I want to know. And if I can, I'll explore it myself, in mind or physically. When Min wrote "Showering Blind", I did, to see what it was like. It wasn't all that different, really. And all the things I've done one-handed for the sake of Lindsey and others!
Doyle doesn't like his demon side, and that's okay to explore, but when all is said and done those spikes and red eyes must be there for a reason, right? They didn't just pop out to make him look ugly. I think it's even questionable if he *is* ugly. There's no point in blaming a donkey because it doesn't look like a zebra.
It's even more noticeable in cripfics. "We still love you, in spite of what has happened. And now, just to prove it, we're taking the problem away!" I hate that. I don't deny that disabilities are traumatising at first and continue to be a pain in the ass, but normality and happiness isn't the same thing. It's like the 19th century belief that black people become white in heaven.
I'm aware that Alison Lapper gets back pains, on top of all other troubles. But I persist in my right to find her beautiful.