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Flights of Fanciful Fandom: Forbidden
Jan. 3rd, 2022 06:33 pmIt hurts to be struck down in the middle of a fanciful flight, especially when my imagination starts to soar. It’s doubly painful when the muse that inspired the flight strikes me down.
If only I could have explained it to her. If only I could have found the right words. My stories in her universe, the ones that played out in my imagination were a tribute. They were never meant as theft. Nor was the only one inspired. It was a measure of how rich the material was that she provided, how beloved her characters were. They tapped into a creative inner landscape everyone who took part in her stories shared, including the readers. What blossomed from this was greater than any one person.
For me, fanfiction was always about an untold story, a relationship, or potential outside of the canon. There may be very good reasons for this. There’s no way for one person to tell every single potential story inspired by a particular set of characters. Fanfiction gave me a chance to pursue those without pestering the creators to do it themselves.
This is the curious thing about a story. It can take on a new form in the imagination of a reader unforeseen by its creator. I had a friend I used to bounce character and story ideas off of. She used to astonish me with some of the ideas she had, ideas which gave me ideas. The reactions of readers to my stories have left me quite surprised. More than one uncanny coincidence made me wonder if I’d tapped into and channeled something greater when I wrote, something which took on new form in a reader’s inner vision.
I’d been in love with her characters for years. Ever since I was a teenager, fanfic ideas spun in my head, generated by her words. Some of these ideas became original stories. Some of them continued to spin, playing in my head when I listened to particular songs.
All of that felt forbidden after she forbade fanfic. My ideas weren’t just taboo. They were potential crimes. I wasn’t the dreamer worshipping at the shrine of inspiration. I was the stalker, lurking outside the window. She wasn’t my idol. She was my victim. She was about to have the forces of the law remove me from her property.
There was only way to respect her wishes. I stopped reading her books. I couldn’t bring myself to sell the ones I had. I still loved her work, but I couldn’t look at them. I averted my head from the ones I saw at the bookstore. They made me feel dirty. I didn’t want to think about her characters. I didn’t want to get any more ideas involving her characters. Those ideas felt dirty, too.
Fortunately I’d found another author whose works I loved. She appreciated my fanfiction. Nor was I the only fanfic writer who found a place in her world. She opened it up to countless writers, published an anthology of stories.
What a marvelous way to let your universe, your creation expand beyond you. What a marvelous way to regenerate your stories, allow them to find life in other artists’s imaginations. It was a creative rebirth.
If only she’d understood that. If only she realized that I’d never meant to steal her stories. They were so filled with creative possibility. They were bound to spawn more ideas. Original ones along with fanfic.
Perhaps she did. Perhaps this is why she recanted her statement about fanfic. Or perhaps she realized she’d broken hearts with her stance on fanfic, losing devoted readers.
Like me.
I came back, starting reading her books again after she changed her position on fanfiction. I wanted to read them again. I’d loved her characters, the world she’d created. They’d always have a special place in my heart.
A shadow had been cast over my enjoyment of her books, along with every bit of inspiration I drew from them.
I was afraid. Afraid to post my fanfic. Afraid to try to publish my stories. Afraid that they were tainted somehow, too close to the source that inspired them. Too close to theft. Even fairytales and myths felt somehow taboo. I was a thief. Nothing I wrote was truly original. I wasn’t a true storyteller.
I had to fight to overcome that fear. I eventually posted the fanfics I’d been hiding for years about many things at Archive of Our Own. I let myself tell those taboo stories. After all, I was going to independently publish myself. I needed all the attention I could get. This was a way to show readers what I could do, get them to look at what I had to offer.
The kudos I got helped me get through my fear. I’m grateful beyond words to the readers at Archive of Our Own. Yes, there were those who also flamed me, but the warmth of appreciation soothed the pain of the flame.
Those fanfic readers gave me the courage to submit a story to a publisher. I wouldn’t be a published writer if not for them.
Fanfiction for me has always been an expression of love. Love for particular characters, a particular world. They got into my heart and mind enough to inspire a story. Not just any author can do that.
I wish I could have explained to her, found the words to compare our efforts to many of the statues, paintings, and works of art she expressed her love for in so many stories. How her tales had transcended fiction, becoming a kind of mythology. We were drawing on that mythology she’d created.
I can’t speak for every fanfiction writer, but the snippets of story I jotted down, the full-fledged fanfiction I posted have always been tributes. The source was special enough to inspire me.
It’s so tempting to blame her lawyers for the whole thing, to convince myself that they frightened her, made her fear her own fans. Yes, there are scary fans out there. There are scary people in general. Interacting with them, being forced to interact with them can be terrifying.
It still hurts that I was one of them. The way I read her books was never meant as a threat to her or her characters. I wish I could have explained this to her.
I hope someone, somewhere did.
If only I could have explained it to her. If only I could have found the right words. My stories in her universe, the ones that played out in my imagination were a tribute. They were never meant as theft. Nor was the only one inspired. It was a measure of how rich the material was that she provided, how beloved her characters were. They tapped into a creative inner landscape everyone who took part in her stories shared, including the readers. What blossomed from this was greater than any one person.
For me, fanfiction was always about an untold story, a relationship, or potential outside of the canon. There may be very good reasons for this. There’s no way for one person to tell every single potential story inspired by a particular set of characters. Fanfiction gave me a chance to pursue those without pestering the creators to do it themselves.
This is the curious thing about a story. It can take on a new form in the imagination of a reader unforeseen by its creator. I had a friend I used to bounce character and story ideas off of. She used to astonish me with some of the ideas she had, ideas which gave me ideas. The reactions of readers to my stories have left me quite surprised. More than one uncanny coincidence made me wonder if I’d tapped into and channeled something greater when I wrote, something which took on new form in a reader’s inner vision.
I’d been in love with her characters for years. Ever since I was a teenager, fanfic ideas spun in my head, generated by her words. Some of these ideas became original stories. Some of them continued to spin, playing in my head when I listened to particular songs.
All of that felt forbidden after she forbade fanfic. My ideas weren’t just taboo. They were potential crimes. I wasn’t the dreamer worshipping at the shrine of inspiration. I was the stalker, lurking outside the window. She wasn’t my idol. She was my victim. She was about to have the forces of the law remove me from her property.
There was only way to respect her wishes. I stopped reading her books. I couldn’t bring myself to sell the ones I had. I still loved her work, but I couldn’t look at them. I averted my head from the ones I saw at the bookstore. They made me feel dirty. I didn’t want to think about her characters. I didn’t want to get any more ideas involving her characters. Those ideas felt dirty, too.
Fortunately I’d found another author whose works I loved. She appreciated my fanfiction. Nor was I the only fanfic writer who found a place in her world. She opened it up to countless writers, published an anthology of stories.
What a marvelous way to let your universe, your creation expand beyond you. What a marvelous way to regenerate your stories, allow them to find life in other artists’s imaginations. It was a creative rebirth.
If only she’d understood that. If only she realized that I’d never meant to steal her stories. They were so filled with creative possibility. They were bound to spawn more ideas. Original ones along with fanfic.
Perhaps she did. Perhaps this is why she recanted her statement about fanfic. Or perhaps she realized she’d broken hearts with her stance on fanfic, losing devoted readers.
Like me.
I came back, starting reading her books again after she changed her position on fanfiction. I wanted to read them again. I’d loved her characters, the world she’d created. They’d always have a special place in my heart.
A shadow had been cast over my enjoyment of her books, along with every bit of inspiration I drew from them.
I was afraid. Afraid to post my fanfic. Afraid to try to publish my stories. Afraid that they were tainted somehow, too close to the source that inspired them. Too close to theft. Even fairytales and myths felt somehow taboo. I was a thief. Nothing I wrote was truly original. I wasn’t a true storyteller.
I had to fight to overcome that fear. I eventually posted the fanfics I’d been hiding for years about many things at Archive of Our Own. I let myself tell those taboo stories. After all, I was going to independently publish myself. I needed all the attention I could get. This was a way to show readers what I could do, get them to look at what I had to offer.
The kudos I got helped me get through my fear. I’m grateful beyond words to the readers at Archive of Our Own. Yes, there were those who also flamed me, but the warmth of appreciation soothed the pain of the flame.
Those fanfic readers gave me the courage to submit a story to a publisher. I wouldn’t be a published writer if not for them.
Fanfiction for me has always been an expression of love. Love for particular characters, a particular world. They got into my heart and mind enough to inspire a story. Not just any author can do that.
I wish I could have explained to her, found the words to compare our efforts to many of the statues, paintings, and works of art she expressed her love for in so many stories. How her tales had transcended fiction, becoming a kind of mythology. We were drawing on that mythology she’d created.
I can’t speak for every fanfiction writer, but the snippets of story I jotted down, the full-fledged fanfiction I posted have always been tributes. The source was special enough to inspire me.
It’s so tempting to blame her lawyers for the whole thing, to convince myself that they frightened her, made her fear her own fans. Yes, there are scary fans out there. There are scary people in general. Interacting with them, being forced to interact with them can be terrifying.
It still hurts that I was one of them. The way I read her books was never meant as a threat to her or her characters. I wish I could have explained this to her.
I hope someone, somewhere did.
