Some Brief Thoughts on Fandom: Or, Jordan is Anxious About GeekyCon

So tomorrow, God willing that everything goes well, I will be on a plane to Florida, and then two hours later I will get off that plane and head straight into the heart of GeekyCon 2015. I registered practically on a whim back in March, when my friend Leah talked it up. I figured I'd ask my parents to make the ticket my birthday/graduation present, and well, here we are.

But I'm not completely excited. Sure, I'm excited to see Leah again, and go to book signings, and dance my face off. But I'm also really nervous.

It's not that this is anything new from me. I've always been hesitant about going anywhere that had been planned in advance. I dont' know why; some strange facet of my anxiety that decides that if you say you're going to spend an hour somewhere, then you are basically shackling yourself to some kind of horribly unable-to-get-out-of nightmare. And things I'm not used to, like starting a new job or going to a convention I've only ever heard of, definitely ratchets up the nerves by a hefty margin.

But do you know what I'm most nervous about? Like when I stop to think about it, and wonder, what's the worst that could happen?

I'm scared that I won't be considered a real fan.

The identity of a fangirl has had an evolutionary process over the last decade or so. This isn't new information; the geeks have inherited the earth, as we always knew it would be. But I've never been the kind of person who injects witticisms and super-subtle/obscure references into my daily syntax. The thought of dressing up in legit costume, not just fancy or pretty outfits, is unfathomable. And as an introvert who has almost always struggled with making friends, the concept of things like Meetups, and interacting with strangers on the basis of similar likes, terrifies me. I'm constantly worried about making sure I put in all the right nuances in my speech, that I show that I'm a true fan, that I know all the background knowledge, that I was here before things got cool. Though the hipster culture has been beaten within an inch of its life into ironic submission, the drive to be original and genuine is immortal, and for me, original and genuine Jordan is not loud. She doesn't lose her mind in front of other people, unless they're family or really, really close. She grew up in schools, even in a home to an extent, where if you got really excited about something, and only wanted to talk about that thing ever, you would be met with mocking laughter. With, "oh my god, you're obsessed!" With, and this is essentially a paraphrase/conceptualization, but, "what a nerd."

And it's not just nerves or anxiety. I'm a naturally quiet person. I'm drawn inward. When I get excited about something, sure I'll freak out, but I've never been a person to fixate on a single thing for very long. If I did, I'd never survive those waiting periods between books (this waiting period for Sarah J Maas' next book? Torture). It's been that way with music, too; I've never been a person who was a Fan of X Band, but the person who is more likely to say, "I found these songs by X Y and Z, and then I heard this one album that was pretty cool." 

I don't really know where I'm going with this. I remember posting something somewhere like this a while ago on another blog. Back when the last Harry Potter movie was releasing, I was terrified at the thought of not being a true fan. I'd had a long stretch of time, essentially from the Deathly Hallows book launch to the final movie's release, where I hadn't read/watched/experienced any of the content, for various reasons, and thought that I didn't deserve to consider myself a fan, or even a "true" fan. But that post was about overcoming that fear, and recognizing that my experience was just as valid as anyone else's.

I know my experiences in fandom are valid. The very fact that they exist makes them so. And I don't expect to be ridiculed at this Con, or even feel like "my kind" is put down. Everyone I've spoken to about GeekyCon talks almost entirely about how welcoming and safe an environment it is. It's a celebration, after all! But when a celebration exists in a rather singular way, I can't help but feel as though my experience becomes somehow less valid. This is a "personal problem," as an old friend loved to say, and I'm sure it won't impede on my rabble-rousing. I just thought that this time, I would type out my fears; let the noise of keyboard clicks drown out the silent calm before the storm.

I'll post pictures and such once I get back from Orlando. If anyone reads this, stay tuned.

(P.S. Another anxiety: I have eleven books that I could ask Holly Black to sign, but does that make me a crazy person?)

Batten Down the Hatches

So, I finally figured out how to post my Goodreads reviews to my blog, something I've wanted to do for a really long time. I've always enjoyed giving detailed reviews when I finish a book, but I knew that not many people had access to them unless they either were friends with me on Facebook or Goodreads. As a result of that, and because it's a Thursday and I don't feel like writing my essay until later (like, midnight later), I may or may not be flooding this page with a bunch of my older reviews. Not all of them; just the good ones, and just what I feel is worth reading. So prepare to get flooded!

For the Love of YA

Part of Beth Revis's Library of YA Contest involves getting on top of a mountain and declaring with a sonic megaphone why you love YA so much. However, Ms. Revis has not anticipated that not all of us have a convenient backyard mountain, and that all the sonic megaphones are on backorder, so a blog post will have to suffice. I mean, it's basically the same thing, right?

Anyway, back to the task at hand.

The first time I remember reading a YA book was in sixth or seventh grade. I'd moved about five years before, and it had really taken a toll on the friend count (this was before Facebook, y'all). I'd always loved reading, but the wait for the next Harry Potter book was a bit too agonizing to just sit and wait for. I went to Barnes and Noble, and realized that I'd skimmed the children's sections so many times, I basically knew the shelves' line-up by heart. So I decided to venture out, into the teen section. Pretty intimidating for an 11-year old. I looked around, and finally picked up a little novel called I'd Tell You I Love You, But Then I'd Have to Kill You by Ally Carter, and 13 Little Blue Envelopes by Maureen Johnson. A girl spy and a trek across Europe? Sign me up! I completely devoured them, once I'd gotten myself a copy of them (saving up your chores allowance takes a while). It was incredible. I'm a pretty independent person, and these kickass, incredibly strong protagonists was like finding a dollar in the washing machine. More like a twenty-dollar bill, I guess.

The two years were years of firsts:

-First book I read with a curse word in it (A Northern Light by Jennifer Donnelly)

-First book with a makeout/sex scene in it (Again, A Northern Light, though I couldn't connect the dots at the time)

-First book with a boy protagonist (Eagle Strike by Anthony Horowitz)

The list goes on and on, but to be honest, I've lost track, since once I began YA, I never stopped. I've recently advanced to the level of the Neverending To-Read List, which comes with symptoms of buying one book one week, and about three more before even starting the first one.

And YA also helped me find a home in writing. I'd always wanted to be a writer, but I was directionless at the start of it. I actually thought once that I was so terrible, I should just write poetry for the rest of my life (there was no follow-through on that plan). With YA books came their authors, and their blogs, and the realization that they were essentially me, with the exception that they took their desire to write, and took the next step: they wrote. Nanowrimo 2012's going on right now, and as the waves of uncertainty try to beat my hands away from my keyboard, I just keep telling myself: write.

I'm actually Marlin in this gif.

Since that trip to Barnes and Noble, I've been to signings, I've cried over books, I've laughed out loud (usually embarrassingly, and in a public place), I've made this blog, and I've written the beginnings of a dozen stories (hopefully they'll all be finished one day). Since then, I've found books that have stolen my heart, books I couldn't even finish, and books that left me thinking (my favorite kind). YA lit has become my home, and I don't plan to move out.