2007 and All That
May. 26th, 2009 04:04 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dolorosa_12Inspired by ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
catherine_clare, I read Harry, A History by Melissa Anelli. I'm not, and never have been, a member of the Harry Potter fandom, and although I was dimly aware of Anelli's identity as webmistress of The Leaky Cauldron, I'd never visited the site. What I am, however, is an internet addict, and a big believer in online community, and I was very interested to hear about the history of the Harry Potter online community.
Harry, A History is an intriguing little book. I've been involved in online fandom long enough now to know that it probably was written with a strong bias, as Anelli sought to justify her own interpretations of, and reactions to, the inevitable wank and debates that plague most online fandoms. As long as you understand this, though, Harry, A History is a pretty good account of the growth of the Harry Potter fandom and Anelli's own experiences of that fandom.
But for me, what shone through most clearly was how fandom had saved Anelli. This is a view with which I have great sympathy, as, two years ago, fandom - or, more specifically, online community did the same for me.
At the end of 2006, I finished my undergraduate degree, and rather impulsively decided that I would offer to work as a casual sub-editor at the newspaper. I had worked for the paper as a book-reviewer for three-and-a-half years at that point, and had a good rapport with the editorial staff. I also knew that during the summer, the paper would be understaffed. Oddly enough, the paper took me up on my offer.
So in 2007 (on New Year's Eve, 2006, in fact), I moved back to Canberra and began to work in new job. Unfortunately, I hated it. Even more unfortunately, I appeared to be good at it: two weeks of casual subbing turned into regular weekly and then twice-weekly shifts. By the middle of the year, I was working there full-time.
It's hard for me to convey the extent of what I was feeling, but I shall try.
Every night I put off going to bed, because that meant that the next day was closer to happening. Every morning, I woke up at least half an hour before my alarm and lay there dreading its piercing beeps, because that meant that work was only two hours away. Sometimes, when I walked to work, I wished that something would happen to me - a minor accident, someone stealing my bag - anything to delay my arrival at work. Every morning when I arrived there, it was as if I could physically feel my heart sinking, my head aching. I counted down the hours grimly, relying on an OCD-like routine (no leaving my desk until 11am exactly, at which point I could go and make the first of my two cups of tea, spending exactly five minutes in the tea-room, etc, etc) to keep myself sane. I couldn't even enjoy the weekend, because by the time Saturday afternoon had arrived, I would be worrying in earnest about the impending arrival of Monday.
What made it worse was that I knew very well that I was there because a lot of people had taken a chance on me and given me an amazing opportunity. It is very rare for people to start work as sub-editors without a few years' experience as journalists. I was allowed to work as a day-sub, working more friendly hours and editing more interesting writing. And I was given full-time work after just a few months of working full-time. I knew I should be incredibly grateful to all the people who had supported me - and I was. But it didn't make me any happier.
I am not saying anyone should be blamed for this. I am merely stating that in 2007, I was the most miserable I have ever been in my life.
But I was saved by the internet.
In 2003 I had idly joined the Republic of Heaven, a His Dark Materials fansite. I posted a few times, and then grew bored and didn't use the site again for four years. For no particular reason, I logged on again in early 2007. I realised I liked the site. I liked posting about my favourite books and discussing them with other fans. (I was not familiar with online fandom at all, but I now know that the overall quality of discussion - and literacy - among the people on this forum is much higher than in most places online.) Soon I realised that I liked talking to the members of this forum about things other than the books. I was posting about all aspects of my life, and discussing their lives with them. I had stopped viewing them as mere interlocutors and started to think of them as something more like friends.
Somewhere around this period, Raphael and I realised that not only did we both live in Canberra, we had attended the same primary and high schools and shared a favourite primary school teacher (who was our favourite for the same reason - he had read us the most awesome books). I seem to remember that we discovered this inadvertently as part of a discussion of Victor Kelleher's books. In any case, I met up with Raphael 'in real life', and had so much fun that I realised I wanted to get to know all the other sraffies as well. That was the first day I logged onto the forum's IRC channel.
Words cannot convey how grateful I am that I did so. Every night after that, I would log onto IRC and talk to whatever sraffies happened to be around. My Australian timezone often meant that this was just Raphael and whoever happened to be the most insomniac that day, but it didn't matter who was around: they were all great people.
I am not exaggerating when I say that the sraffies saved me. There were so many days that year when the only thing that kept me going was the thought of IRC in the evening. But that was enough. The sraffies were there when I was at my absolute worst, and I will never forget it.
It is for this reason that comments about the meaninglessness of internet friendships and internet communities make me irrationally angry. Although I have now met 13 sraffies 'in real life', there are just as many whom I only know through words and images on my screen and voices in my speakers - and I count them all as equally good friends. They know things about me that only two other living souls know, they were there when I was the most unhappy I have ever been in my life, and they gave me a reason to get up in the morning. If that's not friendship, I don't know what is.
I should point out that I have since become involved in several other online communities, and friendships with their members as meaningful as those with the sraffies. But the 'Pub was my first online home, and the sraffies were my first online community, and they are the standard against which I measure all other online communities and friendships. They saved me from despair, they saved me from true misery, and, most importantly, they saved me from myself. I will never, ever forget it.
catherine_clare, I read Harry, A History by Melissa Anelli. I'm not, and never have been, a member of the Harry Potter fandom, and although I was dimly aware of Anelli's identity as webmistress of The Leaky Cauldron, I'd never visited the site. What I am, however, is an internet addict, and a big believer in online community, and I was very interested to hear about the history of the Harry Potter online community.Harry, A History is an intriguing little book. I've been involved in online fandom long enough now to know that it probably was written with a strong bias, as Anelli sought to justify her own interpretations of, and reactions to, the inevitable wank and debates that plague most online fandoms. As long as you understand this, though, Harry, A History is a pretty good account of the growth of the Harry Potter fandom and Anelli's own experiences of that fandom.
But for me, what shone through most clearly was how fandom had saved Anelli. This is a view with which I have great sympathy, as, two years ago, fandom - or, more specifically, online community did the same for me.
At the end of 2006, I finished my undergraduate degree, and rather impulsively decided that I would offer to work as a casual sub-editor at the newspaper. I had worked for the paper as a book-reviewer for three-and-a-half years at that point, and had a good rapport with the editorial staff. I also knew that during the summer, the paper would be understaffed. Oddly enough, the paper took me up on my offer.
So in 2007 (on New Year's Eve, 2006, in fact), I moved back to Canberra and began to work in new job. Unfortunately, I hated it. Even more unfortunately, I appeared to be good at it: two weeks of casual subbing turned into regular weekly and then twice-weekly shifts. By the middle of the year, I was working there full-time.
It's hard for me to convey the extent of what I was feeling, but I shall try.
Every night I put off going to bed, because that meant that the next day was closer to happening. Every morning, I woke up at least half an hour before my alarm and lay there dreading its piercing beeps, because that meant that work was only two hours away. Sometimes, when I walked to work, I wished that something would happen to me - a minor accident, someone stealing my bag - anything to delay my arrival at work. Every morning when I arrived there, it was as if I could physically feel my heart sinking, my head aching. I counted down the hours grimly, relying on an OCD-like routine (no leaving my desk until 11am exactly, at which point I could go and make the first of my two cups of tea, spending exactly five minutes in the tea-room, etc, etc) to keep myself sane. I couldn't even enjoy the weekend, because by the time Saturday afternoon had arrived, I would be worrying in earnest about the impending arrival of Monday.
What made it worse was that I knew very well that I was there because a lot of people had taken a chance on me and given me an amazing opportunity. It is very rare for people to start work as sub-editors without a few years' experience as journalists. I was allowed to work as a day-sub, working more friendly hours and editing more interesting writing. And I was given full-time work after just a few months of working full-time. I knew I should be incredibly grateful to all the people who had supported me - and I was. But it didn't make me any happier.
I am not saying anyone should be blamed for this. I am merely stating that in 2007, I was the most miserable I have ever been in my life.
But I was saved by the internet.
In 2003 I had idly joined the Republic of Heaven, a His Dark Materials fansite. I posted a few times, and then grew bored and didn't use the site again for four years. For no particular reason, I logged on again in early 2007. I realised I liked the site. I liked posting about my favourite books and discussing them with other fans. (I was not familiar with online fandom at all, but I now know that the overall quality of discussion - and literacy - among the people on this forum is much higher than in most places online.) Soon I realised that I liked talking to the members of this forum about things other than the books. I was posting about all aspects of my life, and discussing their lives with them. I had stopped viewing them as mere interlocutors and started to think of them as something more like friends.
Somewhere around this period, Raphael and I realised that not only did we both live in Canberra, we had attended the same primary and high schools and shared a favourite primary school teacher (who was our favourite for the same reason - he had read us the most awesome books). I seem to remember that we discovered this inadvertently as part of a discussion of Victor Kelleher's books. In any case, I met up with Raphael 'in real life', and had so much fun that I realised I wanted to get to know all the other sraffies as well. That was the first day I logged onto the forum's IRC channel.
Words cannot convey how grateful I am that I did so. Every night after that, I would log onto IRC and talk to whatever sraffies happened to be around. My Australian timezone often meant that this was just Raphael and whoever happened to be the most insomniac that day, but it didn't matter who was around: they were all great people.
I am not exaggerating when I say that the sraffies saved me. There were so many days that year when the only thing that kept me going was the thought of IRC in the evening. But that was enough. The sraffies were there when I was at my absolute worst, and I will never forget it.
It is for this reason that comments about the meaninglessness of internet friendships and internet communities make me irrationally angry. Although I have now met 13 sraffies 'in real life', there are just as many whom I only know through words and images on my screen and voices in my speakers - and I count them all as equally good friends. They know things about me that only two other living souls know, they were there when I was the most unhappy I have ever been in my life, and they gave me a reason to get up in the morning. If that's not friendship, I don't know what is.
I should point out that I have since become involved in several other online communities, and friendships with their members as meaningful as those with the sraffies. But the 'Pub was my first online home, and the sraffies were my first online community, and they are the standard against which I measure all other online communities and friendships. They saved me from despair, they saved me from true misery, and, most importantly, they saved me from myself. I will never, ever forget it.
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no subject
Date: 2009-05-29 04:56 pm (UTC)I'm glad we were there for you anyway.