Superheroes need not apply ...

Four years.

In four years, you can go through high school; graduate from college
-- or become a totally different person.

I am one of those people who has an amazingly (sometimes annoyingly) good memory. Not only is it photographic, but I also have a ridiculous ability to recall dates and details. In short, if you wrong me, I will remember how and why down to the nth degree and remind of you of it at the most inopportune time 10 years later. Just ask Chris. But that's a different story for a different post when I haven't been drinking margaritas.

Anyway, I got an e-mail regarding voting in the Kerth Awards, the annual "Lois & Clark" fanfic writing awards, and it got me thinking about my own writing -- specifically, my first story. I started "Inside Out" on a whim in April 2007 and, 35 chapters later, finished a little under two months later. You want to talk about writers being obsessive compulsive -- there's your evidence.

So I went and looked at the archive, and sure enough, I started posting "Inside Out" four years ago yesterday. On April 5, 2007, I forayed into the wonderful, maddening, ridiculous, fabulous experience of being in a fandom.

Fast-forward 48 months and, well, I don't need Superman.

Ironically, I don't even LIKE Superman that much. Contrary to what my friends seem to think, I consider the Man of Steel a necessary evil in the relationship of none other than my hero, Lois Lane, and her super-hot reporting partner, Clark Kent. When I have written L&C fic, he is a secondary character -- if that. When I watch the show, I generally fast-forward through the A-Plot.

Yep, it's true. I don't sit around watching "Superman" movies (I made it through, oh, 15 minutes of "Superman Returns" before I started yelling "Go back to your surboard!" at Kate Bosworth) and I have never read a single comic book. Oh, and I hate "Smallville." I DVRed the episode in which Teri Hatcher guest-starred as Lois' mom, and I couldn't stomach anything beyond her brief scenes.

Alas, there is a point to this. And it may not matter to anyone but me, but I have found it beneficial to put my feelings into words -- and there's nothing wrong with a little self-reflection. I guess you could say that this entry marks the re-opening of the blogging floodgates. You have been warned.

While I am apathetic about the character of Superman, I used him -- well, the likeness of him and the show -- as an escape for two years. I could watch "Lois & Clark" and forget about my fertility issues. I could focus on fiction and not have to deal with the reality of my miscarriage. Writing Lois -- and in turn, Lynn -- gave me an outlet to voice my own fears and feelings about motherhood, about journalism, about life. It was exactly what I needed -- and that is precisely why I don't allow anyone to make me feel stupid about getting so wrapped up in writing Superman fiction on the Internet. It's entirely too easy to judge when you haven't walked a mile in someone else's shoes.

I became entirely too involved in the fandom -- and its dramas -- for entirely too long. I don't regret it, but I am an totally different person now, and my priorities have changed. I barely talk to anyone associated with the fandom these days, with the exception of a couple fabulous women who have become "real" friends -- and we hardly sit around discussing blue tights and red boots.

I have made some wonderful friends through my mom group, and I have found a job that pays less but is far more rewarding that my old career in a lot of ways. I never thought I could love any form of journalism that didn't exist at 1120 John Street, Seattle, but I was wrong. And I will be discussing that more in the coming posts. I actually don't think I have even mentioned that I got a job, and it will have been six months ago at the end of May.

Oh, and, for what it's worth, the me that I have become definitely wouldn't go to a Superman-related convention.

Not that I did that or anything.

And about that fanfiction, I actually haven't written more than a few paragraphs in an unfinished vignette since last June, and before that, I hadn't posted anything since September 2008. I noticed a few weeks ago that someone had posted asking if "This Ain't a Love Song" would ever be finished, and after mentally debating it for a bit, I e-mailed the archive owner and asked her to label it as complete.

After all this time, I just can't write Lynn miscarrying. I want her and George to have their happy ending. If that's not personal growth, I don't know what is.

I actually have started on retooling "This Ain't a Love Song" as original fiction, set in the newspaper industry. I really think it could work -- and I am hoping to get it published. I had been wracking my brain for a complete plot for my first novel and then realized that I had one right in front of me. Lynn could be an editor; George could be a reporter; and I could actually write a book. Go figure.

But here's the thing: Writing -- and a whole lot of editing -- won't be a method of escapism. It won't be a coping mechanism. I am writing because I want to. Because it's something I have dreamt of doing my entire life. I am writing because I am happy.

I have a beautiful family; wonderful friends; a job that occasionally drives me insane but gives me the chance to still be a journalist. I don't need Superman. Sure, I still love L&C, and always will, but it is no longer a lifeline. It filled a void and now the void is gone. And I don't specifically mean not having a child -- I am talking about what I now realize was my general lack of satisfaction with the state of affairs at the time.

Four years later, I don't need to be saved by a superhero.

I did it myself.