duskpeterson: (grief)
[personal profile] duskpeterson
I missed earlier announcements about this, so I only recently learned that Scribe (aka Scribe Mozell, Scribescribbles, and Miss Mozell) died last March 29 at the age of 55. I don't know the cause of death, but she had been in ill health for many years. She was a published m/m author but was best known for her fan fiction and for her original slash/het fiction, which dates back to at least the beginning of this century. (I'm not certain when she began posting her writings.)

I've linked at the bottom of this post to the death announcements and to her profiles and writings. (Her publisher's announcement of her death includes her offline name, which she never troubled much to hide; some of her writings contained both her offline name and one of her fan names. So I've linked to everything I could find.) But I'd like to say first what Scribe meant to me.

I never knew her. I think I might have sent her a fan mail; that was our only contact. But at the time I first encountered her writing, around 2002 or so, she was a breath of fresh air.

Those of who you weren't reading m/m fiction back then need to know what that era was like. If you wanted to read original m/m fiction, you could go to a gay bookstore (where you'd find mainly contemporary fiction written by gay men), or you could hunt down a recommendations list of gay titles in genre fiction (which contained a fair number of titles written by women), or you could read the large number of original writings in the yaoi community.

What you could not do was easily find Western-style m/m fiction (i.e. male/male fiction written mainly by and for women). M/M romance didn't yet exist as a professional genre. Finding original slash - original fiction written by slash writers - was a trip through hell.

Generally, the way you found it was this: You'd hear a rumor - from a fan directory or a recs list or a fellow slasher - that So-and-so wrote original slash. You'd hunt down that author's website, panting in your eagerness. You'd proceed to read a table of contents that looked like this:


And at the very bottom of the page:

"Um, I've written a couple of stories with original characters, and I hope you don't mind me posting them here, because they're sort of like Batman and Robin, and I hope you like them, and if you don't, I'll take them down."

I'm not exaggerating. Most of the original-slash blurbs that I encountered during those years read like that.

There was a reason for the authors' trepidation, of course: the posting of original fiction had a stigma in the fan fiction community (and still does in certain parts of the community). Despite the fact that original fiction had been a part of the fanfic world since the days of printed zines, there was always a suggestion that posting it wasn't quite nice, don'tcha know. One moderator explained to me, in the kindest of tones, that she certainly didn't mind me posting my "gay fiction" (as she called it) to her slash list, but I mustn't be disappointed if nobody commented on my "gay fiction" because, she said, "we're here for the slash."

(I believe that this was the moderator who later sent me three fanmails, all in a row, whilst she was reading "Life Prison.")

Under circumstances like this, as you can imagine, many slash writers were very, very apologetic if they wrote original slash. They didn't write much original work, and what they wrote, they often buried as deeply into the bowels of their websites as they could.

Which made me, a newly arrived slash writer who wasn't terribly good at writing fan fiction, feel that I was going to be about as welcome in the slash community as a slug.

It was around this time that, somehow or other, I stumbled across Scribe's website. When I reached the table of contents, this is what I saw:



Slash is fiction, original and fanfiction, that involves relations between members of the same sex.


Scribe was a prolific writer; in 2002, she reported having written over two-and-a-half million words. She wrote a ton of fan fiction. And she wrote a ton of original fiction (both slash and het). She proudly displayed both at her website.

It was the largest collection of original fiction that I'd seen until that time at any fanfic writer's website.

I still haven't read most of her stories. And I've never before recced the character who made me fall in love with her writing. Clive, the Leather Hairdresser (found here and here), is the sort of character that writers sacrifice their first-born to write.

Here he is, taking his debut in Career Girl Blues. (Clive is bisexual; this scene is het, but I'm not quoting anything graphic. Warnings for D/s and dubious consent.)


"And I'd like to know just who is so important that my express orders are disobeyed?" a voice roared. People jumped. There was a squeak that probably meant that some serious repair work was going to have to be done on some butchered [hairdo].

He came stalking up the aisle, kicking aside fluffs of hair with a pair of dead black engineer boots. Kind of like the kind I'd bought myself that afternoon. He went directly to the counter, focused in on Crossword Girl, totally oblivious to ducking and scattering stylists, and a twittering Bettina.

He wasn't big. He was about five seven, or eight, about my height. But he didn't give the impression of 'little'. He was wearing tight black leather pants, and a very tight black tank shirt that showed a well cut torso like it was painted on. His bare arms and shoulders were hairless and gleaming pale, but not the least bit 'girly'. His hair was longer than the style of the day, falling over his forehead and ears. It would have brushed his collar, if he'd been wearing one. It was a very thick, heavy mass of light brown waves. His face was starkly handsome, with high cheekbones and a wide mouth. And he had absolutely enormous brown eyes the exact color of a slightly melted Hershey's kiss. But they were snapping right now, and that full mouth was in a thin, hard line. I had the feeling that maybe I shouldn't attract too much attention to myself when he was in this mood.

He growled, "You know damn good and well I don't want to be disturbed for Eleanor Fucking Roosevelt when Destiny's Dilemma is on. It's on a commercial right now, so I have to hurry. What gives?" She pointed.

He glanced at me, then did a visible double take. He came around the counter, and I took a step back. . . .

He'd moved up pretty close behind me. He was plunged almost elbow deep in my hair now. I could feel his hands encircling the back of my skull. "Oh, yessss," he sighed.

Hello. New kink, and I don't mean a permanent wave. "Um, does this mean I'm acceptable as a new client?"

His chuckle, right beside my ear, was warm and dark. "I'm going to do your hair."

"You know, if it's too much trouble, someone else can..."

"No, you don't understand. I'm going to do your hair. No one else gets their hands on you."

"Don't I have any say in this?"


"Uh, okay."

He took hold of one long, loose curl, and began to lead me toward the back of the shop. "I'm off duty for the rest of the afternoon. Bettina, love, if you allow anyone back to my private station, I'll kill you slowly."

It was mirrored. Clive's private workstation, that is. I'm talking paneled, and roofed. It was most definitely a room to get the hell out of if there was an earth tremor. It was a self-conscious person's nightmare, and a narcissist's wet dream.

He led me by my hair (and believe me, the significance of this did not escape me) to the back of the shop, and through a heavy, dark door. That and the floor were the only parts of the room structure that did not reflect. Well, I lie. The floor did reflect, but darkly, because it was glossy black tile.

"Have a seat, Precious. We need to have a little chat before anything gets started." . . . Clive stood before me, tapping one foot, arms crossed. "First, let me explain that I don't have to do this. My business is quite successful, I don't have to cut any more, but I choose to."

"So this is sort of a hobby?"

"Oh, much more than that. It's an obsession. I'm not ashamed to admit it. I'm not exactly a vanilla sort of person, as perhaps you've noticed. I have my pleasures, and this is one of them. Does that bother you?"

"No. Seems harmless enough."

His lips curled. "That part of it, anyway. Before you decide to turn yourself over to me, you have to know the rules. If they aren't acceptable, then I'll turn you over to one of my girls, go back to my office, cry, and beat off."

"Damn, and I thought I was direct."

"I'm a laser beam, sweetheart. Rule One: If I cut your hair, you come to me first for anything, anything else you need done later. I own you in that matter. Two: You do not question what I do. I'll listen to suggestions and act on them if I agree, but always remember that I know what's best for you. Three: I'm going to be sexual with you. You smell like a virgin, so nothing that would endanger that. But I will get my rocks off."

I sat back. "Is this standard procedure for all your personal clients?"

"No, dear. You see, I can usually control myself on the standard preps, but I'd rupture myself if I tried to hold back working with your mane."

"You said I didn't have any choice in this, and now you're asking me to agree?"

He shrugged. "There's always a choice. Though I might mention," his eyes narrowed. "I'd be very unhappy if you tried to cry off now. And there is a lock on that door."

[After the haircut, he talks to his assistant.]

"Bettina, do stop fluttering about and make another appointment for Scribe. Next Friday, I think. Just a shampoo and condition."

"No, that's all right, Clive."

"Will, say, four be all right?"

"Clive, I hardly think I'll need..."

"And who said this was about what you needed?"

"Oh. Clive?" I smiled, to show I was joking. "What would happen if I went to someone else to have my hair done?"

He smiled back. "Why, treasure, if you want to find out about punishment, all you have to do is ask."


Polished style wasn't Scribe's strength. It didn't have to be, with dialogue like that.

She could write serious tales too; see my review of Roman Enslavement. Too late to send her another fan letter, I plan to read the rest of her stories.

She just barely made it into the m/m publishing revolution, and only because SL Publishing Group contacted her, asking to publish her vampire novel, Child of the Night, a development that greatly excited her. (Kindle edition here.) A second volume was completed and will supposedly be published, though the last update on this was in January 2013. The WIP "Child of the Night" - all 125 chapters - is also available online in a French translation by a fan.)

Since I didn't follow Scribe's blog, I know nothing about her life except what she wrote in 2009 here:

"Been on disability since my late thirties--diabetes, heart, multiple broken bones. But for a train wreck, I'm doing pretty good. Single, never married, but have a platonic sweetie now [whom she described at the end of this post]. Recently lost 70 pounds, and aiming for more. Live to write, would like to write to live. :)"

Four years ago, she described the societal changes that she'd seen in her lifetime. She ended the post by saying, "I've seen science fiction become science fact. Cell phones, Palm Pilots, personal computers, lap tops, GPS, a space station, microwave ovens, cable, organ transplants, in vitro fertilization. . . . Yes, people, I am a dinosaur. But I intend to stalk the earth for a few more years, and I'm trying to leave behind big footprints."

She did.


"Once upon a time there was a wonderful place called fanfiction.net, where the writers and readers could blissfully romp. Then came the Day of Infamy, 9/12/02, the Day the Freedom Died. ff.net, with no warning, announced that no more NC17 material would be accepted, and all such rated material would be removed on 10/12/02. No discussion. No appeal.

"No brains.

"I had 142 items, amounting to over two and a half million words stored there, over half of them NC17. See my journal at http://Stories.com/authors/missmozell (section titled THOSE BASTARDS!) for my full rant--I don't have space here. [Dusk's note: That journal entry - which it took a fair amount of hunting through archive.org for me to locate - seems to have been made private by Scribe, but I think this post was her revision of it.]

"Luckily I have everything backed up . . ."

--Scribe (September 19, 2002).

Whew. Scribe had an enormously scattered presence online, under multiple names. I think I've located most of her writings, but there may be more of her sites/stories out there. Fortunately, the majority of her stories (perhaps all) are at her main website.

Scribe Scribbles is her main fanfic/originalfic website. (The site includes annoying pop-up ads that show up when you click on navigation links. Not her fault.) She was fond of WIPs, but conveniently for us, she included an index to her completed works. Her original slash can be found in the slash section of the website. Note that her slash index has two pages; you need to click on "Miscellaneous Slash" at the end of the first page to get to the second page.

And here, marvellously, are a lot of her stories in epub, doc, and single-page html.


Most of these writings are probably at her website, but I'll list them all in case her website goes down in the future (heaven forfend). The stories are mixed in with her chatty posts.

Stories.com, later renamed Writing.com, is one of the two places where Scribe's stories were posted before she fully established her website. Fanfiction.net was the other place, but she took down all her stories there, and since Fanfiction.net excludes Internet Archive from caching its stories, I don't know of any way to recover those.

Two more websites by her:


And here's where else she posted her stories:


Scribe had a lot of stories at https://www.squidge.org/~peja (The Wonderful World of Makebelieve). I think the stories were all transferred to the autoarchive (listed above), but a Google search within the site will tell.

Individual stories, which may be duplicated above:

http://www.restrictedsection.org/story.php?story=199 ("Paternity," a Harry Potter story; registration required to access the story there, but this story is indeed at her own website)

She posted at a lot of Google Groups. A Google search within Google Groups on her various names and handles may turns some of those stories up.

Her lists:

(Scroll down to the see the Message History, and then click on the month you're interested in.)

(Click on "Archive" to see the posts.)
http://lists.squidge.org/wws/info/cult_of_scribe (no posts)
http://lists.squidge.org/wws/info/cultofclive "If you are in any way familiar with Clive, you KNOW why he gets his own Worship Center."

Blogs, etc.:

http://scribesboys.livejournal.com/ (with fic)
http://ffe.hyperboards.com/action/view_topic/topic_id/31 (CSI discussion)

SCRIBE'S FANS (with some posts by Scribe)

"This took me 14 hours straight to read, only stopping for food and the bathroom. I even skipped school that day to keep reading." --A fan.


There's also fanworks of her writings at her website.



. . . And lots of little references all over the web to how fond readers were of her stories.






I'm not kidding.

http://digital.library.ryerson.ca/islandora/object/RULA%3A3149 - also here: http://jmfrey.net/bibliography


https://www.facebook.com/SLPGroup/posts/10152906018476564 - mirrored at http://bloodclaim.livejournal.com/4273837.html
http://karuraoh.free.fr/index1.php (in French)

SOME FINAL WORDS FROM SCRIBE (taken from her websites)

"Hi. I'm Miss Mozell. Mozell because that's my middle name, and I'm rather fond of the quirky thing, and Miss because I'm Suthern, y'all."

"The Original Renegade Redneck Southern Belle. The Empress of Epics, The Countess of Cliffhangers, The Viscontess of Villains, The Sultana of Slash, The Queen of the Happy Ending. Scribe."

sad news

Date: 2015-01-09 05:03 pm (UTC)
From: (Anonymous)
Oh, that is sad to hear. She and I had corresponded a few times back in the early 2000s as I wrote her the occasional positive feedback on her stories she posted to the Slash Writers YahooGroup. Her writing was epically hilarious, except when it wasn't, if that makes sense? When she went silly, she wrote with an abandon that really said 'Fuck it'. (I mean, who else out there would write a story that had all the characters Seth Green played have an orgy with each other? And she was the only one I ever read Winnie the Pooh slash and didn't squick at it.)

It was through an exchange between us where I joked about the 'Can you hear me now?' guy from Verizon and the Fox Mulder/FBI knockoff guy from Sprint being in a Romeo & Juliet type relationship that caused her "Commercial Slash" series, which then caused what I still use today as THE definition of a crack pairing: the Hamburger Helper glove and the Arby mitt. (Yes, it ends on the requisite 'fisting' joke.)

I actually looked up her site a couple of months ago out of nostalgia, but had no idea she had passed. This is a beautiful tribute, and if you have no objections, I'd like to link to it on my LiveJournal and on my Kylara Ingress Tumblr.

Angie Fiedler Sutton (as the OpenID is not liking me), aka Kylara Ingress

Fannie Mozell Feazell

Date: 2015-02-04 07:25 pm (UTC)
From: (Anonymous)
I thought you ought to know her real name was Fannie Feazell (July 3, 1958 - March 29, 2014), you can sign her guestbook and view her obituary at Broussard's Mortuary here :


Date: 2015-06-13 03:19 pm (UTC)
wynnebat: Violet Baudelaire tying her hair up (Default)
From: [personal profile] wynnebat
God, I never even realized. The Learning, Leather, and Love series was one of my first and favorite intro's to original slash. She was an amazing writer.

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