A really terrific editorial on mediocrity. I have stumbled across this Fanfic-themed blog and I have to say, it is now a favorite. Enjoy, but be warned, you might not like it! ;)
Keeping fan fiction in perspective. I have read a number of comments in social media where authors question the value of fan fiction as a practice. This is a nice succinct outline of what it is, what it shouldn’t be and how to keep it real.
Originally posted on Sniffer:
What is Fan Fiction?
Fan fiction can be defined with one simple phrase: “What if . . .”
What if Elsa fell in love with Olaf?
What if Captain America used time travel so he could go back and have his date?
What if Bilbo found Yoda in Mirkwood?
Fan fiction explores the “what if” questions of popular culture. Sometimes, a two-hour movie or a 300 page book isn’t enough for people. They go and write out extra scenes that never happened (and most often were never intended to happen), or even go so far as writing a completely new story set the same world.
Fan fiction has many wonderful benefits, but also has a sinister side that can easily turn what is good into what is hideous.
Why might writing fan fiction be a good thing?
For aspiring writers who want to tell their own stories, writing…
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“Are you enjoying your visit to Faversham?” Mrs Jones looked like she knew the answer already. Somehow Ana was going to have to pick the woman’s brains regarding the strange attitudes she had encountered. Mrs Jones didn’t pause for Ana’s answer but picked up the cup and carefully raised it to her lips.
The murmur of voices had resumed enough for Ana to be sure that they could not be overheard. “Yes. The town is very pretty and surprisingly busy.” She refused to say anything else about the strange attitudes that she sensed. Not yet, anyway.
“The bastard Captain’s new mistress, no doubt.” Two women were seated at the table adjacent to Ana’s. They were smartly, if somewhat unfashionably attired, so she was sure that they must be wives of important local landowners or businessmen. Both women paused their cups at their lips, as they leaned in to talk in raised whispers. “I hear she was a servant. Rising above her station, thinking to marry the son of a Duke. A failed naval captain, if you please. She’ll be another slut, like the others. Probably leave her brats all over the countryside and run back to the city. More for his collection of waifs and strays. Wouldn’t be surprised if she’s foreign, like the others.”
Read Blackheart: Chapter 8 here
Feeling this pain. As I watch my peers get themselves out there, pressing the social media flesh. Here I sits going ‘like me’ …’please like me’. Of course, there is still that pesky little issue of ‘finish the darn book’ to contend with.
Originally posted on lorellepage:
Hi *meek smile* *shy wave* You may not have noticed but I’ve actually been here for a while. I kind of clung to the shadows and made sure I wasn’t making eye contact. Oh, you were talking to my self-promoting self? She came in earlier wearing fluorescent Lycra, banging a big bass drum, blowing a whistle and generally pretending she was something she is not.
This won’t be a long post. It just hit me the other day that to me, self promotion as an introvert, sorry, an unpublished introvert with no readers, makes the term ” self-promoting author” an oxymoron. *whispers to self* poxy moron.
I honestly feel like a used car salesmen. The only good thing in this instance is that the book has low mileage so it should sell well…
Look at me, Miss Pessimism…..No! Don’t look at me! Look at that author over there…
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Christian sat at his desk studying the papers before him. The candle flickered, breaking his concentration and not for the first time tonight, his thoughts went to his wife. Her cool demeanor was a mask. He knew this for certain because he had perfected his own over the years. She was protecting herself, against what, he was not sure. All he knew was that the feisty and passionate woman who had confronted him on his ship and challenged his alter ego on the dance floor, had suddenly retreated into this empty husk, who had barely walked through the past few days leading up to their wedding.Her reserve had warned him to be patient but her latent tears had ripped at his heart. Within those pathetic murmurs he heard all of the passion she had been denying and he had very nearly gone to her. Instead, he had stilled his hand upon the handle, rested his forehead against the door and simply listened to all of her pain, wishing for the first time since he had approached her father, that he had done things differently. All of the decisions he had made were for their collective good. At the time he had been certain of his motives, but in being so convinced of what he thought was right, he had removed her choice in the matter. So he had stopped himself from going to her tonight, choosing not to force himself on her, as many husbands did to their wives. Instead, he hoped that, as unworthy as he was to be a husband, he could love her enough for the both of them, and in time, she might learn to love him in return.The clock chimed two and Taylor entered the room.”We're ready, Sir.”Christian nodded, locked the papers in his drawer, donned hat and cloak and followed his man through to the library.
Read Blackheart: Chapter 7 here
“Well, that seemed to go very well.” The Duke, seeming quite pleased with playing his part, grinned at his wife before taking her hand and pressing a kiss. The Duchess pulled her hand away.
“Don’t count your chickens, Carrick. You know that if anyone can possibly ruin the outcome tonight, it would be your sons. They are both quite charmingly hopeless.” Glancing about the room, she smiled at the revelers in an encouraging way. Enticing them to continue with their fun and ignore the fact that four young people had just disappeared, unchaperoned, under dubious circumstances.
“Those young ladies are well-matched with your errant sons, m’dear. I think this will all go very well.”
“Carrick, you are ever the optimist. As much as I like Miss Steele, I fear that Christian has underestimated his opponent. As to Lady Katherine. We both know that she is not the problem.” She smiled fleetingly at Lady Montford as she waddled past, effectively dismissing the tiresome old biddy’s unwelcome approach.
“Would you care to wager?” Her Grace raised an eyebrow as her husband continued, “four gold sovereigns that there will be grandchildren on their way by Mistlemas.”
Her Grace laughed. “Grandchildren! Oh, I should like to take that wager, and I would gladly lose.”
“What happens now?” The Duke snatched up a glass of champagne from a passing footman.
“We hope that Sir Raymond remembers his lines.”