Before Fandom
Visiting at my parents' home for the first time in a while and it's very strange. It's odd to be in a place where everywhere I turn I see clothes I used to wear, appliances I used to operate, music I used to listen to and books I used to read. My old room is overflowing with books, especially romance novels.
Before I experienced the joy of thousands of free stories available on the net written about my favourite fandom characters (in naughty positions :p), I used to read many series. It started out innocently enough. I used to borrow tons of Baby-Sitter's Club books from the public library. And I mean 15 or 16 books at a time. I tried to branch out into Goosebumps books or Sweet Valley High books but they were just too trite for 11 year-old me. I migrated from the children's section of the library to the small young adults section by the time I was 12.
Once I discovered teen romance novels like the "Love Stories" books or Sweet Valley University and Nancy Drew University novels I was happy for a time. Then I stumbled upon the plethora of Harlequin romances tucked in the back corner and book consumption doubled.
But that wasn't the first time I'd read a Harlequin romance. During my childhood my mom kept joining mail-order book clubs so there'd always been romances tucked in the bathroom bookshelves, or in the basement or in the crevice between the armchair and the couch. And since I was such an avid reader I was quite intrigued by these books decorated by passionate embraces.
The first ever Harlequin romance I read was "Witchwood" by Mary Wibberley. I was 7. It must have been in the summer because I was sleeping in the pleasantly cool basement because my parents' refused to turn on the air conditioning. I explored the old bookshelf because I'd read all my library books and needed to read something else to get to sleep.
Instead I stayed up all night reading this book. Since it was written in 1978 it was pretty tame. There was no hot and heavy sex. But I was disturbed nonetheless because "Witchwood" was one of those novels where the heroine basically hates the main male character. He's rude, bossy and treats her like she's incompetent. He thinks she's a gold digger and I think he also accuses her of trying to use her wiles on him (this was 1978).
Anyway, the novel was disturbing because the heroine got attacked by someone's relative (step-brother? cousin?) and almost raped. The man saves her and then yells at her for leading the relative on. There's also a scene where the male character gets so mad at the heroine that he throws her over his shoulder and spanks her.
But, despite his jerkish, abusive and heavy-handed ways, at the end of the book the heroine falls in love with him. The man admits that he acted the way he did because he didn't want to care about her (or something similar), but he gives into loving her and that's that.
The pair's bizarre love and hate (mostly hate) relationship confused and upset me so much that I tossed the novel behind the bookcase and left it down there.
Looking back I think I rejected "Witchwood" because I disagreed with the outdated values and heroine's submissive tendencies. I also didn't like how the attempted rape and spanking scenes made me feel.
Romance novels had such a huge influence on me when I was growing up. Those books helped me form my ideas about love and relationships. They contributed to my sexual development. Most importantly, they brought joy, laughter and tears to a home life that wasn't always perfect.
Sometimes I wonder where I would be without fandom. What if people just stopped writing good stories, or stories about the pairings I 'shipped? What would happen if I had to move away to a place where there was no internet available? Or what if I could simply no longer afford my own internet connection? What would I do? I can see myself returning to the world of romance novels. Looking up favourite authors at the public library or finding new ones. Resurrecting my fantasies about time-traveling Scottish clansmen, or sweet-talking cowboys, or good-hearted businessmen who allow themselves to be auctioned off for charity.
But I would miss the slash ;).
Before I experienced the joy of thousands of free stories available on the net written about my favourite fandom characters (in naughty positions :p), I used to read many series. It started out innocently enough. I used to borrow tons of Baby-Sitter's Club books from the public library. And I mean 15 or 16 books at a time. I tried to branch out into Goosebumps books or Sweet Valley High books but they were just too trite for 11 year-old me. I migrated from the children's section of the library to the small young adults section by the time I was 12.
Once I discovered teen romance novels like the "Love Stories" books or Sweet Valley University and Nancy Drew University novels I was happy for a time. Then I stumbled upon the plethora of Harlequin romances tucked in the back corner and book consumption doubled.
But that wasn't the first time I'd read a Harlequin romance. During my childhood my mom kept joining mail-order book clubs so there'd always been romances tucked in the bathroom bookshelves, or in the basement or in the crevice between the armchair and the couch. And since I was such an avid reader I was quite intrigued by these books decorated by passionate embraces.
The first ever Harlequin romance I read was "Witchwood" by Mary Wibberley. I was 7. It must have been in the summer because I was sleeping in the pleasantly cool basement because my parents' refused to turn on the air conditioning. I explored the old bookshelf because I'd read all my library books and needed to read something else to get to sleep.
Instead I stayed up all night reading this book. Since it was written in 1978 it was pretty tame. There was no hot and heavy sex. But I was disturbed nonetheless because "Witchwood" was one of those novels where the heroine basically hates the main male character. He's rude, bossy and treats her like she's incompetent. He thinks she's a gold digger and I think he also accuses her of trying to use her wiles on him (this was 1978).
Anyway, the novel was disturbing because the heroine got attacked by someone's relative (step-brother? cousin?) and almost raped. The man saves her and then yells at her for leading the relative on. There's also a scene where the male character gets so mad at the heroine that he throws her over his shoulder and spanks her.
But, despite his jerkish, abusive and heavy-handed ways, at the end of the book the heroine falls in love with him. The man admits that he acted the way he did because he didn't want to care about her (or something similar), but he gives into loving her and that's that.
The pair's bizarre love and hate (mostly hate) relationship confused and upset me so much that I tossed the novel behind the bookcase and left it down there.
Looking back I think I rejected "Witchwood" because I disagreed with the outdated values and heroine's submissive tendencies. I also didn't like how the attempted rape and spanking scenes made me feel.
Romance novels had such a huge influence on me when I was growing up. Those books helped me form my ideas about love and relationships. They contributed to my sexual development. Most importantly, they brought joy, laughter and tears to a home life that wasn't always perfect.
Sometimes I wonder where I would be without fandom. What if people just stopped writing good stories, or stories about the pairings I 'shipped? What would happen if I had to move away to a place where there was no internet available? Or what if I could simply no longer afford my own internet connection? What would I do? I can see myself returning to the world of romance novels. Looking up favourite authors at the public library or finding new ones. Resurrecting my fantasies about time-traveling Scottish clansmen, or sweet-talking cowboys, or good-hearted businessmen who allow themselves to be auctioned off for charity.
But I would miss the slash ;).