Fandom for LLS: For me, it's personal

Strong language alert. Just saying.

I announced earlier this week that I will be writing a contribution for the Fandom for Leukemia & Lymphoma Society cause. I just want to say a little more about that. These are just my thoughts, and I'm being as honest as I can. Like the heading says—it's personal.

In terms of my writing, I have a couple of goals for the year. A few of them I've achieved (complete a story, host a contest), and a few I have yet to tick off: write something angsty, write a collaboration, and contribute to a cause.

There are so many important things happening in the world. It's my personal belief that we should contribute where and when we're able to. So I've been thinking all year about the kind of cause I want to write for. It's safe to say that it's something I gave a great deal of mental attention to. So then the decision came...which cause do I choose?

My choice is not to say I think any are any less worthy, but this one in particular struck a chord with me. It's something I feel pretty strongly about.

There's no delicate way to put it - cancer is a nasty fucking disease.

Just the word cancer brings up a bunch of images, and not many of them are pretty. There's the physical effects that cancer has on the body. There's the aftermath of treatments that seem almost as bad as the disease.  And if recovery doesn't happen, there's the image of the loved ones who had to watch their nearest and dearest face a battle against an overpowering, murderous opponent.

I'd like to think of the flip-side.

There's the jubilation associated with the celebration of every year of remission. That glint in the eye of a survivor, who has in some cases had cancer push them in the back so that they're staring death in the face—then they turned, fought, and bitch-slapped that motherfucker right between the eyes.

For me, I didn't even know cancer was the opponent my mother was fighting. No one used that word around a nine year old. They just looked at me and my brother with pity in their eyes. I got used to that look.

Years later, I accused my dad of lying to me. I remember every word of that conversation.

"You didn't tell me it was cancer," I said.

"No," he replied. "I didn't."

With the anger that only an eleven year old can have, and the tentative-bravery of one who is about to defy her father, I spat the words out. I don't know if it was my intention at the time to be so cutting, but it was probably the result. "If you'd told me, then I would have known. I could have been prepared. You lied to me."

"I didn't lie," my dad said quickly. His voice was calm, but firm, but I could tell there was something going on beneath. I'd seen it before—he was holding it together for his kids. "I told you exactly what she had. I told you she had T-Cell Lymphoma."

Back then, those words meant nothing to me. They were long, strangely-spelt words that I couldn't remember. But I'd written it down phonetically, so that one day, when I was a grown-up, I could find out what it meant.

Many years later, I found out exactly what my mum had gone through. A thirst for understanding, a knowledge of the research process, and access to one of the best medical libraries in Australia gave me a pretty clear picture of the physical struggle my mum endured. By matter of small mercies, her struggle was short. I don't doubt it was extremely painful.

What I get full appreciation for now, is just how young she was. T-Cell Lymphoma took my mum when she was just thirty-five. It's the age I turn this year. She left behind two young children. Just as I have.

I'm lucky to have great memories of my mum. One beloved memory is the wicked, dry sense of humour she had. Another is the way she always believed in me—when I told her I'd dreamed of fairies living in our garden, she insisted we go look for them. When I came home from school disappointed that, yet again, a boy had been chosen as school captain and a girl was vice-captain, she took me to school to ask the principal why a girl couldn't lead our school. She had a strong sense of justice, and of fighting for what you believe in.

I believe in this cause—and this is one way I can help fight this shitful disease.

Knowing these things about mum, I'm pretty sure she's one person I'd be able to trust with my fanfic-closetness. I'm sure I could tell her that I loved to write in my spare time, and that some of the stuff might be a little racy.

I know she'd ask to read it.

Many months ago, I started sketching out an outtake for Yosemite Decimal. As I wrote YD, I had the full scene clear in my head. As I wrote Bella's story, I found myself giggling at the 'gaps' that Bella didn't get to see (cause I'm weird like that). That's why I've chosen this cause to contribute this out-take. I reckon mum'd get a real kick out of it.

A bunch of authors, from several fandoms, as well as banner makers, betas, and generally nice people are taking up the fight too. You can help. A donation of $10US (I don't know what that is in colourful Aussie money) will get you a bunch of stories. And you'll make this girl really happy.

Go to http://fandom4lls.blogspot.com.au/ for more info, and to scroll through the HUGE list of authors contributing. I'm calling it—it's going to be epic.

Mag xx

This is only a test post...

Don't get excited. I'm just testing stuff. Thanks, though! :)