Decisions, Decisions

Written By HikerAngel, Gen 1

*Based on a true story*

I tossed my Kindle to the nightstand, rolling under the covers in the darkness with a satisfied smirk. Another V.C. Andrews novel finished, this one my favorite yet.

Inspired to add the author’s Twitter to my feed, I picked up my iPad, googling the author. As the results of my search splashed over the screen, Wikipedia came up as the first entry. I scanned the opening paragraph, amused to learn that the original V.C. Andrews had died in 1986. A man⁠—aptly named Andrew⁠—had stepped in to fill her shoes, continuing to write under the original author’s pseudonym ever since.

I laughed, glad that he did. It was always troublesome to find a new author that wrote the sorts of stories I adored. And he was even better than the original author, his stories every bit as devilishly delicious as those of the original author. Probably moreso. I’d never even noticed any difference in styles, so consumed was I in the crafty tales penned by both writers.

Adding the account to my feed, I decided to check my Patreon, my smile fading slightly as I saw the results of the latest poll.

“Non-sexy, non-superwoman stories are noise! We don’t want them posted at all. Poetry? Yuck. That stuff isn’t even worth the time to scroll past on our way to the next sexy story.”

It wasn’t unexpected. Nor was it a bad thing. In a way, I was glad my Patreons were this straightforward about what they enjoyed. Clearly, they were not so much attached to my writing as to the content. Much as I was when reading my V.C. Andrews. I didn’t blame them. I searched for and found writers because they produced the content I loved to read, not because they wrote in a particular way. Clearly that was why pseudonyms continued even past the ends of the lives of the writers who began them.

Not only that, but sometimes, my favorite writers moved to other things, and I found myself losing interest in their work. I could understand both perspectives⁠—their desire to move on as well as their readers’ desire for them to continue. When my favorite writers changed genres, I often didn’t follow them. I simply moved on to the next author in the genre that I loved. While I had begun to fall in love with the crafting of prose as much as its contents, that was a recent development. For years, I loved certain genres, and the moment a writer left my chosen genre, I abandoned them in favor of another. But finding them was always the trick. That V.C. Andrews approach had some merit. It saved me from having to dig out a writer I’d never heard of and simply allowed me to continue to read the sorts of stories I loved.

I let my thoughts drift to the next story I was to write, staring at the ceiling in the darkness. After several long moments, still wound up from the thrilling end to the novel, I flipped on the television, selecting the next episode of The Expanse. As the eerie music of the opening credits played, I mused that those were based on a book series too. I really should give those books a try. The show was good enough that I couldn’t help but be curious as to how the books would match up. What if they were better?!

A hungry grin forming on my closed lips, I propped my iPad on my stomach again, googling “The Expanse novels”. Another wiki entry appeared at the top of the results. This author’s pen name was actually a single pseudonym for multiple writers too!

I had ghostwritten for other writers twice before. It was fun in a way, writing content that no one would ever know was mine. It was like being a secret agent. Looking at comments about particular passages had me giggling because I knew that I had written them. My own personal little secret.

Thinking about that, I considered. I had never tried commissioning content under my own pseudonym. I knew it was a way that most of the extremely prolific writers on Amazon produced content so quickly. Maybe that would be a good thing for me to try! I did have a strong desire to write some non-sexy content. I still enjoyed it, but it wasn’t stuff that I felt I could show my Dad. Or my boyfriend. Or most of my friends.

I had commissioned one story, though it wasn’t to be ghostwritten. I intended to make an audio story out of it, something that I hadn’t had time to do myself. But I intended to credit its actual author. It would simply be a way to generate more audio content than I could myself and give my actor friends more business.

In the past, I’d had plenty of editors, some of whom had written parts of the story that I incorporated into my existing work. I had credited them for that, but it had merged seamlessly with my own work. I’d collaborated with others as well. It was fun! Heck, I’d edited and written small pieces of the stories of others and they hadn’t even credited me! It was fun to jump in on others’ stories. Some were even for sale on Gumroad, or posted on other Patreon pages. And those creators hadn’t credited me at all!

I thought about it further. Maybe I could take a bit of a vacation that way without people getting antsy for stories. Maybe that could be a way that I could write some other types of fiction that I enjoyed. It was an idle thought, but an appealing one.

Pulling open Discord, I checked my messages, clicking through them as Avasarala chastised her cabinet in the background.

“We have to meet!” said one. Why did people want to meet me? I preferred anonymity. Who knew what trouble having my real name associated with sexy writing could cause in my career, let alone in my social life.

“Are you a girl or a guy?” said another. I grimaced. Sometimes, I thought about posting my preferred pronoun on my DeviantArt page again, just to ward off this perpetual question. Why did that matter so much to people? But when I had posted it there, propositions had been commonplace, some of them pretty lewd, others quite disturbing. No, better to keep it hidden.

“Hi! I love your comedy stories and even your horror stories. But some of these others... don’t you think you focus a bit too much on physical beauty? Maybe you should write about women who are beautiful in other ways?”

I sighed, my lips twitching. I didn’t disagree. I’d love to do more of that kind of thing.

Tapping my chin, I thought back to the results of my latest Patreon poll. My fans liked physical beauty. It was a large part of my pseudonym’s “brand” at this point. Change to other genres wasn’t what people wanted. They knew what they liked. They weren’t with me for my prose. They were with me for the content.

I could completely understand that. As a reader, I had always felt much the same way. As a writer, it was a shame, really. I’d built a following and was even beginning to benefit from almost two years of hard work, but the vast majority weren’t so much followers of my writing as of the type of content that I had become known for.

I mulled that thought again.

The vast majority weren’t so much followers of my writing as of the type of content I had become known for.

I thought about a story I had commissioned to bring to life via audio. The writer I’d chosen was talented. That writer was beginning to build a reputation as well, their commission prices rising with every quarterly posting, but they just hadn’t progressed as far yet. If my Patrons didn’t care so much for the writer as the content, maybe it would make sense to collaborate with another writer, just as the writing team behind The Expanse had done. Maybe it was a good way to create time for myself to work in other sorts of fiction.

I thought about it further, resolving to discuss it with a few others the following morning before drifting off to sleep.

***

I awoke the next morning, checking Discord as I stumbled to the kitchen for an initial sip of water, as had become my habit. I smiled as I saw the plethora of messages that had accumulated overnight.

“I think you should quit writing this stuff,” said one message, apparently from the spouse of one of my clients, sending a chill through my heart. “How dare you?!”

My hand shaking, I clicked on the next message.

“I have to meet you,” said another, someone I had chatted with often. “I’ve been having these feelings, and I really need to talk to you about them in person. I know the city you live in, and I’m in town. I’d like to see you face to face.”

My breath caught for a second time. After some of the discussions we’d had, I had an inkling of what those feelings might be. The telltale feeling of forming tears radiated from the corners of my eyes.

Idly, I closed Discord, not wanting to read anything else there for the moment, flicking open Messenger instead, where I saw the last message from my boyfriend. I thought about telling him about my online business once again, wondering what he would think.

The thought made the tears begin to fall.

What would he think of me?

Maybe he would be fine with it. Maybe he would enjoy the stories? God, wouldn’t that be nice! But was it worth the risk? My sister already knew about them, but what if he told my Dad? What if we broke up, and he posted it all over Facebook for all my friends and coworkers to see?

I sat there in silence, feeling my gut twist as I imagined the surprise in his eyes, worried about whether there would be judgment within them.

Maybe I should simply give it all up. Shut it down. Leave everyone in the lurch. Pursue a publishing deal or simply self-publish new books that I could freely share with my friends.

But I couldn’t do that now, could I? I had voice actors that were counting on me to finish what I’d begun. I had a dozen more stories in various stages of progress. I had artwork commissioned for covers! I had Patrons counting on me for the content they loved. I had new writers to assist, learning to do, commitments to keep.

My thoughts returned to the poll. The content they loved…

That’s right! They weren’t so concerned about the writer as about the content. They had overwhelmingly told me so! Maybe I could keep everyone happy. Maybe I could keep my actors working. Maybe I could keep those who loved my content from being disappointed. Maybe I could even help another writer get off to an amazing start, connecting them with my readers, rather than forcing them to find the same audience for the same sort of content.

Everyone would win!

My readers were instantly plugged in with someone who loved to write what they loved to consume, and another writer could benefit from the brand I’d built, taking it further that I had been able to go. I could simply hand over my company to someone else!

Companies did it all the time! Walt Disney was a person’s actual name, but it had become synonymous with a certain type of content and had grown far beyond its creator’s original vision. Hell, writers did it all the time! Published writers, indie writers… I’d been approached about writing an entire novel under an “umbrella” romance pseudonym and had very nearly taken the publisher up on it.

I wiped away my tears, the thought of giving up my pseudonym hollowing out a strange emptiness in my heart. But as I mulled it over, I knew it was the right thing to do. Everyone would benefit if I collaborated with someone for a while, as The Expanse writers had, then turned the brand over to my collaborator eventually, just as V.C. Andrews had.

I looked again at the message imploring me to meet in person. Then, the next, encouraging me to write different types of stories. I could actually do that again if I made this happen.

Another message chimed, and I checked it. The next chapter of my latest audio story. Excellent. A twinge of guilt stabbed at me. It would be selfish of me to take this work away from so many. Merely for my own ego and silly, sentimental attachments. Not when I could keep providing work for my actors, whom I’d grown quite attached to, if I did this too. All the more reason to make it happen.

Blowing my nose, then dabbing at my puffy eyes with the tissue, I fired off a message to the best writer I knew in the genre. A return message appeared a moment later. “Let me think about it.”

Then a few minutes after that. “Screw it. I’m in. I’d be honored! Thank you for considering me for this!”

I leapt out of my seat, a smile forming on my salty lips. This was actually going to happen!

I went to work, the entire time thinking of how to transition everything. I reset passwords, cleaned out private communications, and began turning over each of my accounts to the other author. I ran them through which stories were works in progress and how much had been already written on each. I let them know that I would finish out my current commissions, and that I had refunded those larger works that I wasn’t sure I could finish, giving their patrons the work I’d already done for free.

Turning over my Discord account to my new partner, I felt nothing but relief. It had been the right decision after all. I could stop feeling guilty about not telling my boyfriend about a major part of my life. Oh, I’d still tell him eventually, but it would be an amusing anecdote. Something I had done for a while, then quit, maybe indulging in it only from time to time for his benefit going forward if he liked the idea of reading one of my naughty stories. I would no longer have to worry about messages professing desires to meet me or field questions about my real name.

It was a relief.

I could still even write the occasional short story or scene and toss it to my friend to publish, whenever I had the fleeting desire to craft a bit of sensual prose. And the rest of what I already had started would actually be finished, by someone who was thrilled to build on what I had already done.

Continuing to chat with my fellow writer, it became clear that they wanted to make the behind-the-scenes change known, something that we hadn’t really discussed and that I was willing to defer to them on. While I had messaged some of my collaborators and actors to advise them of the change, I had left the rest for my eventual replacement to decide how to communicate.

My new collaborator and I worked out a statement that made it clear that this was a happy thing for everyone involved, and it was posted. However, quickly, word came back to me that, while most seemed amenable to the change, a few had reservations. I was saddened, realizing suddenly that not everyone felt as I did. It became clear that they may not understand my reasoning. That they might not understand the network of people that had begun to count on me for work and for content and how this was a far better solution than dissolution for the vast majority.

Those who decided that they felt the writer was more important than the content (only a few, I already knew from my polling) would be free to unsubscribe from the Patreon and not purchase any paid content going forward. That would be disappointing, and I hoped they didn’t, but it would be understandable if a few chose that path. However, I really hoped they would stay on to appreciate the rest of my work in the genre and give that of the new writer a chance. After all, I’d chosen them for a reason. The choice of writer was much like the choice of actor for my different stories or artist for my covers. It was something that I felt was the best match for my readership.

Meanwhile, I set about my work, crafting my latest commissions, finishing up the last of the content I’d committed to write. But I felt saddened as some of those who I’d thought would respect my decision hassled my friend. I wished there was a way to communicate with them. I wished there were a way to get them to understand the many tentacles that had wound themselves into my ultimate decision. Above all, I wished they would give my chosen successor a chance. I hoped that they would find them at least my equal and, in time, my superior in delivering the stories they loved.

Then, it occurred to me. I would communicate to them in the same way I always had…

...I would write them a story! :)