The Craptastic World of Mary Sues, or Eat My Trope, Midget Guzzlers
As I sit here (also stand, lie down, pace, jiggle and sometimes Walking Man), re-writing the same chapter of my new classic Xenafest endevour over and over, and over and over andoverandoverand KILL ME WITH A HAMMER! - I was overwhelmed by the urge to deep-throat any artistic integrity I thought I had and to throw myself naked and writhing into the dark pit of my own word soup.
The Author Insert.
In real life (and yes, I do have one. Sort of), I hate meeting new people (bear with me - this is relevant). There's always that moment of uncomfortable itchiness where you have absolutely no idea what to say to the other person and no real understanding why you'd be motivated to say anything at all. I mean, there's no attachment, there's no investment - It all seems just a little bit too hard.
But now, as a writer of little forethought, I have thrown myself into the unavoidable situation of having to do just that, because now I have introduced Sappho, and I need to get to know her, get under her skin and into her head but frankly, she's a bit of a PAIN IN THE ASS.
And this is why authors use Mary Sues.
Mary Sues are easy, because they're the writer thinly veiled. There's no need to sit down and plan out a psychoanalytic profile of your character, because everything is already in your head, and while most Mary Sue-weilding authors are of questionable intelligence (yes that's an elitist generalisation - suck it), they generally have enough gusto to spew themselves onto the paper and wipe over any particularly foul spots with a partly moistened cloth of what-the-fuckery and fantastically coloured eyes. Also, boobs.
This option is not afforded to those of us who throw our trust blindly in a blank sheet of paper and a pen that leaks indiscriminately as much as it records actual thoughts on a page, who are instead left with the vague sense of being locked in a very small room with someone we probably should know, being of similar backgrounds - ie we are in the same BRAIN - but cannot remember where we met this person, how we got into this position in the first place or why THE HELL we let them follow us home.
But no, I thought to myself. I WILL NOT AI.
I am a firm objector of the Mary Sue because I am also a firm objector of a stranger walking up to me in the street, putting their genitals in my mouth and having a firm and hearty WANK. I find it rude and a bit hard to swallow. Ha ha.
So instead I am here, spilling the self-indulgent vitriol and bile of my brain onto you, gentle reader. Aren't you pleased?
Swallow up now, dear. I'll wipe down the (mental)rape rack.
*****
"To all the people out there tonight, who are comforting themselves
If you should happen to see my light, you can stop and ring my bell.
I'm just sitting here in this sty, strewn with half-written songs
Taking one breath at a time - Nothin' much going on...
Nothin' much going on..."
-- "Recoil", Ani DiFranco