A rant, review, and metacommentary all in one pristine package.
Yup, it's 6:30 in the morning alright.
WONDER WOMAN: DC ENSLAVEMENT
"I'm not doing it," Wonder Woman said.
I sighed and dug the heels of my hands into my eyes. "Look, Wonder Woman," I said. "I'm the author, you're a character, hierarchy established. Just do as I say and then you can go back to whatever it is characters do when authors aren't playing with them."
"No." She planted her hands firmly on her hips and stared me down. "I'm drawing the line. Here and now. You being the author is irrelevant - this is not how I would act."
"Do I look like I care?" I said. I tried flailing my hands for emphasis, but I hadn't decided whether I had hands in this story or not.
"You do not," she said. Then I saw a smirk start to grow on her lips. "And that's probably why you have seven rejection letters sitting at home."
Oh fuck you, I almost said, though I stopped myself once I realized she had a point. Still, the unwritten expectation that authors were omnipotent masters in the worlds they created was starting to slip away like a bar of soap in a jailhouse shower, and like any sane convict, I was getting desperate.
"Wonder Woman - " she said, holding up a hand and hardening her glare. "You only get to use my real name when you stop this insanity."
"I swear I'll write in some thousand-headed tentacle monster if you don't start behaving." And I will too, I thought, even though I already felt covered in slime at the very utterance of the threat.
She only smirked harder.
"Then you'll have to strain that tiny little brain of yours past its limits," she said. "Because I'll fight it and I'll win."
"No you won't," I said. "I'll make it spit poison and use skyscrapers for clubs."
"That's the best you can do?"
"Alright. Enough." I decided that I had hands in this story and held them above my non-descript head. "I don't get it. All I'm telling you to do is to viciously fuck and dominate every male in the DCU and talk all sexy-like throughout it's entirety. That's it. Like, what the hell is so hard about that man? Seriously?"
"That's not something I'd ever do," she said. "What's my motivation for doing any of that?"
"Do you need one?" I said. "I just want you to fuck men in two's and three's. It's not rocket science. It's not even porn - porn has a plot usually."
Without hesitation she said, "I don't know EDN, do you need to post this in public where everyone can see your desperate little fantasies?"
"They're not little dude," I said. "We're talking about fuck-cameos from Darkseid and the Anti-Monitor. Also freedom of speech man - I can write whatever I want. I don't need a reason."
Again, no hesitation. It was like she had prepared this speech nine million years in advance. "So you accept then that putting it out in public entails with it a chance for other's to comment on it or criticize it?"
I stopped, shrugged, kicked a little dirt with the toe of my now-existing shoe. "Yeah, I guess," I said eventually. "Sure. Criticism's fine."
She moved closer to me. "So if someone were to tell you that this idea was more a sad commentary on the ill mind of it's author - a mind so starved for pleasure that it must transmute itself onto an archetype strapped to roller coaster of sex and power in order to vindicate itself in it's isolated little chamber of unsightly inadequacy - than on anything related to fandom or writing, you would understand it was just that same free speech principle you cited earlier, only used against your 'story', if we can even call it that? Would you?"
"I...I guess I would," I said.
"And if someone said that they couldn't understand why someone would willingly show themselves to be this desperate in public, even if they used a fake name, as it really is a pathetic piece of work? Would you still accept that then?"
"What if someone wondered why you'd waste time derailing characters on this site to fill your fantasies when you could have written it somewhere else, like a porn site?"
"Porn has a plot," I said again. "This is just fucking. Totally different."
She sighed. "Look, EDN. I don't understand why this exists. Do you really gain satisfaction from seeing me dominate every male character in the universe? Does that somehow please you? Are I and the rest of my friends that easily broken down into mere sex-things from you to strut across a stage like some horny adolescent? I truly do not understand why you put effort into something that seems to be merely an extension of your own perversions."
"They're not that bad..." I said.
"It reduces men by making them mere playthings for me. And women too, for that matter - you understand that not all women merely wish to dominate men, correct?"
I paused. "Well...seems like all the action women do. Like Jane Bond or whatever. Also it's just fanfiction man, don't be such an SJW."
"I'm not," she said. "I'm not campaigning to shut you down or anything else that people who moan about 'SJW's' say we always do - I'm merely saying that this story of yours has questionable motives and I don't understand why it exists. Frankly, it's trash - and mean spirited trash at that. Why do it?"
"Because I can?" I said.
"Is that a good enough reason to have me...fuck...every male DC character in existence?"
"And a goat too," I said.
"Don't divert the conversation," she said.
I threw my hands back into the air. "Fine. I don't know. I think it's good enough. I can say and write whatever I want and that's enough of a reason to do something. You can say and write whatever you want back about it, you can analyze and call me out on it, whatever. It's fine. But I don't have to listen to you."
"If I was a reviewer, yes, even though it would likely help you in the long run since making a habit of writing harems is a great way to look like a serial rapist. But in this scenario you do have to listen to me, because you're about to force me to do something and I'm not having it."
"You're not real," I said.
"You're not either," she said. "I'm a feminist icon, a strong character, and above all I'm independent. I'm not fucking every man I come across, I'm leaving. I'd take a poorly written BM/WW fic where I'm just another member of the Wayne family over this."
"Fine!" I said as she flew away. "Then I-I'll make new characters! With blackjack! A-and hookers!"
She paused in the air and turned slowly. She glared at me.
"Your Futurama references are bad and you should feel bad," she said.
And I did. I did feel bad.
This turned into a dialogue about the value of intention in art and I don't like how that just snuck up on me like that.
Stop it characters - I had a plan and you ruined it for me.