Huggy Bear's Guide to Getting More Feedback
|Title:||Huggy Bear's Guide to Getting More Feedback|
|Author(s):||Elizabeth Helena and Rebelcat|
|Fandom:||Starsky & Hutch|
|External Links:||online here, Archived version|
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The subject: how to market one's fanfiction to fans.
- AKA How to Pimp Yo' Stories, Man!
- Before You Send Them Out on the Street
- Working the Streets
- Working the High Class Joints
- Dealing With Dissatisfied Customers
After a long day of raping Starsky, giving Hutch crippling guilt complexes, and otherwise abusing the guys, Rebel and EH chose to kick back at the Pits.
It was a slow night at the bar. It was Parcheesi night at the Dobeys, and Ladies Night at Sweet Alice’s House of Ill Repute. Starsky and Hutch were at home, presumably in bed clutching each other after their admittedly hard day. Fully clothed and gen, or naked and slashy, your choice.
Then completely randomly, without any connection to anything else, the topic of feedback came up.
“Feedback,” pontificated Rebel, trying on her horn-rimmed glasses for size. “That stuff we pretend we don’t care if we get, but which we can’t live without. We act as if we write for nothing more than the pure and unadulterated pleasure of torturing... uh, I mean, worshiping Starsky and Hutch. But honestly, how many of us would take the trouble to put words to paper without the reward of feedback?”
EH slammed down her medication, stopped washing her hands, and protested, “I would! I’ve written hundreds of pages of things I’ve refused to show anybody!! It’s a compulsion, I tell you!!!”
Huggy, ducking the extraneous and airborne exclamation marks, sauntered over to their table. He was resplendent in his usual sartorial splendor. Unfortunately, Rebel and EH had used up their adjectival quota for the night, so they couldn’t do justice to his elegance. Besides, EH just wanted him to serve up another Shirley Temple.
Huggy gave Rebel a dirty look, because she was still nursing her Long Island Ice Tea. He should have known better. Not only does Rebel never pay for her own drinks, she’s quite capable of making one glass last all evening. EH would never take her out, if she wasn’t such a cheap date.
“I am willing to concede,” said EH, in a fake British accent, “that it is discouraging when you actually muster up the courage to put your work out in public and all you get...”
“Is the sound of crickets chirping?” asked Rebel.
“Crickets might be welcome sometimes.”
Huggy placed his palms on the table and looked at them each in turn. “Let me guess. You two fangirls are bitching about feedback, and the lack thereof. Am I right?”
“I’m not bitching!” said Rebel.
“Yeah,” added EH. “Apparently, the other fangirls want her to rape Starsky.” She glared at Rebel. “And no, I’m not going to do it, and you can’t make me.”
“At least,” Rebel muttered, “it doesn’t take me over a year to get him up off the bathroom floor.”
“I have a doctor’s note!!!!” EH scrambled to find her documentation in the depths of her many, large shopping bags.
As empty pill bottles, Kleenex boxes, spare undies, and books flew through the air, Rebel explained to Huggy, “We’re not complaining, we’re just discussing the issue philosophically. I’ve been getting tons of feedback lately, so I’m perfectly happy. EH hasn’t had much, but too much feedback makes her nervous, so that’s fine, too.”
“But I’m willing to take more medication to make that better,” said EH, abandoning her search. She cursed as she realized Rebel had made her doctor’s note into an origami cocktail umbrella, and stuck it into her Shirley Temple.
“But,” continued Rebel, unfazed, “we know lots of really great writers who aren’t getting the love they deserve. And we’re not sure why. Some of them write a lot better than we do, and have been around a lot longer, too.”
“Ah,” said Huggy, nodding wisely. “That’s because you’re not just a writer, girl, you’re a pimp.”
EH was busy trying to rescue her soggy Doctor’s note. “Who’s a pimp?”
“I am!” said Rebel, delighted.
“Wait,” said EH. “That’s not a good thing. It’s illegal, and you have to wear silly hats.”“Listen and learn, children,” said Huggy pulling up a chair. “All successful writers, whether they’re writing for money or for feedback, are pimps.