If you're looking for a sign, this is it.

It makes me so upset whenever I think of all the times I went to a con and couldn't seem to find anyone to talk to. After being on a few panels where I made jokes about the joys of writing about dicks and butts, I would walk around, and it just seemed like folks were all doing their own thing, not inviting me to join them. I would always think, Oh, story checks out, everyone is put off because I'm a weird freak, it's just like in high school. Then I'd go back to my hotel room and wonder what I spent all this money for, coming here to be lonely.

Then, in the days after the con, I would see posts from other con-goers, or receive messages: "omg berlynn i was too shy to say hello at the con but i just want you to know that your fics mean everything to me and you're so amazing."

I really do appreciate those kind words, but...it would have been cool to actually hang out with you, you know?

One time I had the opportunity to chat with with a trio of folks who were the guests of honor at this con because they were screening their gorgeous and charming fan film, and they confessed to me that the day before, they had walked into a room, seen that I was there, and walked out because they were too intimidated at the very idea of being in the room with me. (So I sat alone and silent in that room for 20 more minutes.)

The thing is, even if I was the most popular fanfic writer in the history of the world, connecting with other fans and forming friendships is the only compensation I get. I don't eat better because you liked my fic. I don't get a swag bag worth $5,000 when I check into my hotel room at a con because I wrote that one omegaverse fic that everyone read. I do what I do and I write what I write because I want to be part of a community of fans.

But I should note that all is not loneliness and misery for Berlynn. I have had some of the greatest moments of my life making connections with people who actually did speak to me at cons. Sometimes it was just a hug and a few happy tears, sometimes it was deep philosophical discussions about writing dicks and butts while sitting on the floor of a party suite at two in the morning...but several of my IRL friends are people who were not afraid to just reach out to me after a panel, or say hello at the bar.

Here's how it might go when you connect with your favorite fanfic author: One of my closest friends is someone who was a big fan of my work, introduced to me by a mutual friend. Sitting across from me at a restaurant not too long after our introduction, this person had to point out to me that, whilst gesticulating exuberantly over my meal, I had gotten some macaroni and cheese on my sleeve. After that, they were not so starstruck anymore, and now we live in the same building, which makes it easy for us to hang out and giggle over old TV shows together a couple times a week.

but it's an entirely new level of tragic when somebody you've actually spoken to gets turned into a bot account. it's like peeking at a zombie apocalypse through the window and realizing one of the shambling corpses was your friend.

and then the zombie catches sight of you, lurches up to your window, and shouts through the glass that they accidentally reported your account to tumblr and you'll be deactivated unless you click this link.

if you get something like this ↑ they're gonna follow up by instructing you to contact tumblr support on discord and give you contact info; or they're gonna link a website that looks sort of like tumblr support and say you have to email them; or any variety of "you must now contact tumblr, here is how you contact tumblr."

whatever they send you, it Does Not lead to tumblr. it leads to the master zombie that bit them and inducted them into the ranks of the undead, and will bite you the second they have your email and password. i might be confusing zombies and vampires. anyway,

it's easier to fall for these messages because the blog doesn't LOOK like a bot blog, because it ISN'T a bot blog. it's a normal person's blog that got accessed by a bot, meaning the blog's content CLEARLY looks like a real active user when you click on it. and yes—it might even be a blog you already know. sometimes bots like this go down a blog's DMs or reblogs and message people they've previously interacted with.

since 2017, i’ve read this essay every june 12th, to mark every unfortunate anniversary of the pulse shooting in orlando. justin torres published it in the washington post the day after it happened, when i still had the image of a dance floor vibrating with cellphones in my mind—vibrating not with music but with call after call after call of people trying to reach their beloveds after hearing the news.

every year, i read it in silence, i read it out loud, i read it while crying, i read it angry. i read it, and i wish it was in spanish, and i read it and i know the translation, in any direction, wouldn’t suit because we can’t always be translated, anyway.

Keith Haring's story is usually told as a solo rise, but that version leaves out Angel "LA II" Ortiz, a Puerto Rican artist from the Lower East Side who collaborated with Haring from the very beginning. Angel was a teenager when they met, already active in the neighborhood's graffiti culture. He taught Keith how tagging worked on the street, painted alongside him, and guided him through spaces Keith did not come from. Angel's tags, infill, and visual language appear across works that later became associated with Keith Haring's public legacy.

After Keith Haring's death, the story changed. Museums mounted exhibitions, publishers released books, and merchandise entered the market under a single name.

TO MAKE SOUP

YES IT IS HOTTER THAN SATAN'S ASSCRACK IN MY APARTMENT