Fanfiction

 The audio version of this post can be downloaded here.

Chances are if you enjoy reading or writing, you’ve come across fanfiction during your travels. Most of it was probably horrendous, though you may have found a few gems as well. If you did, you were far luckier than I. Despite being a genre bereft of quality, there is something to be said about fanfiction. There has never been a stronger congregation of love and hate in a single space.

I can’t say I’ve had a very extensive visit with it, reading or writing. I have always been the kind of person who wanted to read what actually happened, not what could have. Not to mention I’m also a nonfiction reader. There isn’t much fanfiction about actual historical figures. Even then, I prefer to write my own mental storyline. But that’s another story altogether that I shouldn’t be writing here.

The fanfiction arena is also a mecca for petty arguments and clique battles rivaled only by the middle school and high school environment. Characterization, romantic pairings, anything you can think of. Romance is generally the most heated. Not siding with the pairing of characters A and B automatically makes you wrong and a heathen bastard in the eyes of a large group. If you side with characters C and D, another group may take you into their forum, which is all about why the people who like A and B are wrong. If you prefer A and C together, well then you’re just insane and doomed to have no friends.

Inane discussion and poor quality aside, the presence of fanfiction would be the ultimate indicator of my success as a writer. After all, imitation is the sincerest form of flattery. I’m not sure I would read very much of it, but I would attempt to read at least a few. I like to think of it as a gauge for the reading populace and who likes what character. Or who wants to do immoral and possibly illegal things to what character. But the latter is generally a detail I’ll choose to forget.

There are some writers who disagree with me. The first author that comes to mind is Ann Rice. Think what you will of her writing, I personally dislike it. Whatever rocks your raft, fine by me. For those of you unaware, she will not allow fan works of any kind. People in the past have chosen to ignore this rule, but they were met with ill will, to put it mildly. From what I understand, lawsuits have even been threatened if the offending material was not taken down. I wouldn’t be surprised if she wanted to sue me for slander based on this post. I only hope her born-again Christianity has brought a little more peace to her.

A ban on fanfiction, to me, is a sign of fear. A fear that the writing fan may upstage the author. Even if that does happen, who cares? The majority of the fanbase will continue to read the author’s work to keep up with the original storyline, if a series is present. If it isn’t, at least it’s an incentive for the author to get better.

Come to think of it, it’s also a sign of greed. It screams “IT’S MY STORY, DAMMIT. YOU CAN’T HAVE IT.” If the story is legitimately published, everyone knows it’s your story. Your name is on the dust jacket. But who says fans can’t enjoy that story in their own ways? Who are you as a writer to stifle someone’s creativity? If someone had stifled yours, would you be a writer in the first place? Probably not.

With that note, I’m going to end this post. The discussion point is obvious this time around. Do you like fanfiction? Would you allow it for your works?

Just a Quick Note

This isn’t the official post for the day, just a quick note. For those of you addicted to all media, I’ll be adding an audio version of every post to this blog from this point forth. Think of it as the “audiobook” for my stuff. Once I get used to it, I may make it a separate podcast of its own, but that’s unlikely. Anyway, I need to get ready for work. Off tomorrow, but I’ll be out with a friend, so I may not post until later. Who knows. But I will post. Hopefully. And podcast.

By the way, I love this new microphone.

Urinating in the Shower and Other Nasty Habits

The one thing that binds us as writers is that we all have habits. Some of them are good, some of them are not. I have two that I can think of off the top of my head. There are probably more, but I’ll think about it as I go. Nonetheless, I don’t think many of them are extremely uncommon.

The first that comes to mind is I have a permanent need to procrastinate. Everything can wait until tomorrow, or my next day off.  The negative influence it has on my writing is obvious. If it’s not procrastination in the typical form, it’s in the form of multitasking. I think the people of my generation are the most affected. There are always four or five things going on at once, and somehow we manage to pay attention to all of it. Naturally, in varying degrees. I’m multitasking as I type this blog. But when writing is a part of the equation, it seems to get the short end of the stick. It’s a good thing I don’t write for a living. I’d never have a paycheck.

The second is my style of description. I have been stuck in the style of Alaric in Thor’s Hammer for so long, that it seems to have adhered to the creative end of my brain. It’s not a terrible thing, but it turns first drafts into fiftieth drafts very quickly. I have a difficult time finding what to divulge at that moment and what to divulge later. My head is always swimming in that respect.

Ah, here we go. My biggest habit that has been the bane of my existence for years. My inner editor is always on duty. And that’s not hyperbole. Whether I’m working on a draft or I’m reading a notice at work, I’m thinking of how it could be written better. It’s a big reason for me not finishing projects. I second-guess everything. And change it forty-two times. And then I suddenly think the idea is horrible and I scrap the object altogether. Word wars have been a big help in this area, but I need to have them more often.

When you think about it, though, none of these habits are that bad. Well, yeah, they hinder my writing, but that’s the obvious point. The same goes for any habits you may have. But knowing one’s own faults is the first step to overcoming them. Once you know what they are, only a solution is needed. I’ve already got a potential solution for the procrastination.

Within the next few weeks, whenever I can schedule it, I’ll be taking a week off from the online world. All I’m going to do over the course of that week is write. And work, naturally. No editing, no procrastination, just a pen and copious amounts of paper. Maybe a backup pen too just for good measure. Think of it as my own personal NaNoWriWeek, except I won’t be writing a whole novel. Or at least not a new one. Maybe I can use it to finally gain some ground on Thor’s Hammer? Eh, I’m not making any promises. My main goal is to simply get writing, no matter what.

Will I blog during that week? I might. Simply because it’s technically a form of writing. And I won’t actually be interacting with anyone for prolonged periods while online. If I do post, it’ll probably be about my progress.

With that in mind, here’s your discussion point. What are your flaws as a writer? And, most importantly, how do you plan to overcome them?

How Sweet It Is To Play God

I’ve been debating on whether or not to write this post for a while. Well, it’s become obvious what my decision was. I was reluctant because this is an area of writing primarily reserved for fantasy and science fiction writers. However, I suppose all writers can benefit from it in one way or another.

In my early days of writing in the fantasy genre, I never put any thought into my settings, characters, or really even the plotline. But this was also a time in my life when I would have been a candidate for an original fiction edition of Godawful.net. Only much less graphic sex. I like to think I might have been good, but… no. Just… no. I’m not great now, but I’m a far cry from that.

Tangents aside, all of that ended when I learned of the term “worldbuilding.” The term itself is pretty self-explanatory. You build a world. But the act itself is far more complicated than that. Every culture, race, national border, and landmark must be fleshed out and explained. Despite these complications, I fell in love with it. Maybe that’s the masochist in me. If anyone else worldbuilds the way I do, it can be agreed that it’s the most time-consuming, painstaking process on the face of the planet. However, that is also the beauty of it.

During the times when I get a fleeting urge to write fantasy, I spend it all worldbuilding. My other projects don’t get much attention at all, much to the dismay of Heidegger [see blogroll]. My playlist is suddenly filled with Welsh folk music, and anything else I can find of that nature. Blame the Celt in me. I become caught up in this world I’m creating, and I get a sudden notion of how a human God might feel. The only difference is there is no seventh day of rest for me. I work until exhausted, then rest for several months, only to work again later. If the universe was created in seven days, I envy the deity who had that kind of work ethic.

I’m well aware that much of the information I store in my folders will never make it into print. Some of it will, no doubt. But a world so extensive would take several books to unearth, and I’m not sure my world has no many stories just yet. If it does, I will naturally oblige. But I’m not in a hurry to work on my first series.

I suppose this would be a good area to begin talking about my world, but there’s not much to talk about yet. This gives me an incentive to settle into a night of worldbuilding. A night that will surely end in frustration somehow mixed with joy. The discussion point I’m posing for this post is: how much effort do you put into the planning process? Regardless of the genre in which you write. Do you find yourself simply writing or is there an extensive process? My approach, judging by this post, is the latter.

I promise I’ll be a bit more speedy with the post output from this point forward. This world and my other projects will hopefully give me something to talk about.

The Trouble With Attachment

Another day, another blathering writer.  Well, today I’m going to go a little more in-depth about my personal projects. Namely one in particular I just can’t seem to finish. No matter how much effort I try to put into it.

I have been working on this novel for about seven years. With seven years under its belt, I should at least be close to finishing it, right? Well, I’m not. Seven years and about as many revamps later, only three chapters. It’s not really that I don’t like the story, I just can’t bring myself to finish it. I look at the document it’s currently holed up in and I just… close it two seconds later. I don’t feel like I can add anything. Anything that’s meaningful anyway.

I guess the problem is that nothing I write feels good enough for this character. Although laziness has also reared its ugly head on many occasions. See, Alaric has been in my brain a little longer than the story has.  He represents, in a way, an entire portion of my life. When I came home in the evening, I knew that at least I could sit down and write a story. His story. Now, I can barely touch it. It never occurred to me that it might be a problem until now.

At the end of this story, Alaric is going to die. It’s the kind of ending that you know no matter what you do, it won’t change.  This is something that has to happen. Actually, I see it as a mercy killing. Far better than what would happen if I left him alive and sent him home to his bombed out, hopeless post-war country. Either way, death would find him. It’s difficult to justify this type of attachment to a person who doesn’t even exist, but it’s something vaguely akin to losing a child. The person you’ve developed and nurtured for so long is going to cease to exist, and this is his only story. At the very least, his death will be on your terms.

I suppose it’s selfishness that keeps me from finishing the novel. I want him to be able to live on in my mind, but at the same time, I am refusing to give him what will make him so memorable. It’s kind of like Arianhrod and  Llew Llaw Gwyffes. In one moment, she refused him his right to be a man, but in turn gave him everything he needed to become such. Maybe I should do as Arianhrod should have done. Arm him with what he needs to survive, and let him go.

I’m not going to pose any questions for this post because the discussion point is pretty self-explanatory. That and I need to get ready for work. Fast.

… And every bright neon sign turned into stars…

Frank Sinatra is serenading me in the dead of night as I bring this post to you. He, or rather the song he’s singing, is the inspiration for the title as well as the content that follows.

I can’t seem to type a single line of this post without singing along with Ol’ Blue Eyes. I know his voice wasn’t perfect, but it seems to fit this song wonderfully. For those who don’t recognize the line, I’ve had The World We Knew on repeat for Gods know how long. It has been the backdrop for every creative thought I’ve had in the past two days. I have no specific reason for why it’s so inspiring, but the imagery is so vivid it’s difficult to turn off.

The way that the mind gathers inspiration is amazing to me.  How is it that the brief tune of a trumpet can turn my brain upside-down and suddenly I have a whole new project to discover? I suppose this is the mark of an artist. The ability to turn seemingly insignificant things into something they see meaningful. Music is an exception to that rule, as it is already in an artistic form, but that’s material for another post. The point I’m trying to make is that inspiration can come from anywhere. It’s the artist’s choice as to whether or not they’ll accept it. Even if it is accepted, there’s a chance of losing it before they can find a pen and paper.

For me, inspiration has a very general pattern. Plotlines and settings are taken from cultures and time periods of interest. Even in my fantasy days, this played a big part in my writing. Characters, however, vary much more. One of my favorite characters in my main project, Thomas Wittmann, originally came into being through a customizable appearance on a video game. His mistress, Tabitha Watson, came from a series of photographs taken by Howell Conant.

The World We Knew has veered me off the path of mafiosi and illegal means of income. Well, “veered” is a harsh word. It’s more like a jug handle along the way. Nonetheless, I should probably make an outline and update my few, potentially faithful readers at a later date. I apologize for my lack of philosophical enlightenment, but tonight just isn’t a night to get cosmic.

I’ll end this post with a question for those who write comments: Does your inspiration come from a specific pattern of things, or does it come from anywhere? Furthermore, what do you do when you’re in a project, and and you’re suddenly ready to start another? Do you write it down for later or charge ahead?

The Ever-Elusive Niche

Have you ever had a time in your life where you were suddenly bored with everything? Or maybe an event completely changed your perspective? We all have, and if you haven’t, you will. The most familiar is the sudden need to change your job. You wanted to be a dancer all your life, but when you finally get there, you decide you want to be an astronaut. You longed for a life in the business world, but suddenly the thought of spending your days in an office makes you retch. Just as in life, this is also true in writing.

My personal experience comes from writing in a genre. My forte in the writing world has always been fiction. Once an author is known for a particular genre, that becomes the whole of their notoriety. They’re the “x” writer or the “y” writer. Some authors transcend this, but it’s difficult to do.

When I was twelve and thirteen, my passion was fantasy. The thought of a world where magic existed and heroes came from the wombs of deities was glorious to me. Unfortunately, the stories I wrote then were beyond help. Looking back on it, I wish I had all of that writing time back. Maybe I could have created something meaningful. However, by the same token, those stories that would have made grown men cry made me the writer I am now. I can’t entirely write them off. But there’s no way in Hell I’d ever read them again.

After a brief, sordid love affair with science fiction, I came to the genre I’m fiddling with now: historical fiction. In this genre, I can create the stories even I would read. And I am a very picky reader. Many find the genre constraining because the author is bound by facts and dates and a predisposed future. I find I’m liberated by it. I can work in an environment that is familiar enough to make me feel at home, but distant enough to make me want to learn more. It’s a lot of effort, but it’s worth all of that.

I know there will be a time in the future where I leave historical fiction behind. Not permanently, perhaps a project or two. It saddens me, but it’s not something I’m going to fight. In fact, I’m going to try my best to embrace it.

This is what I’ve come to realize. It’s not an epiphany that will suddenly bring all who read this blog to light, but it’s something worth noting. These changes that we go through don’t mean that we have a screw loose. These are growing pains. Signs that we are not only free-thinking, but interesting people. We are capable of change, which is more than can be said for some. So, maybe that niche you were hoping for doesn’t really matter.

In the end, I don’t want to be defined by my genre. I want to be defined by the stories I tell and the quality in which I tell them. I think that can be said for all writers. For all people, even. But I’m going to stop getting cosmic and end this post. I’ll have more tomorrow.

Without Further Ado

As is the dilemma with most bloggers, I’ve been staring at this screen and wondering what to write for about ten minutes. Before this post is over, I’ll probably be staring for at least twenty more. It’s easy to write when the groundwork is already laid for you, but the mind gets a little murky when everything you type feels like textual diarrhea. I created this blog for the sole purpose of keeping my mind going. So, if you’re looking for a crusade against world hunger, the government, or Rosie O’Donnell, my blog is not for you. However, if you find the idle wondering of a starving potential writer is something that amuses you, then stick around. There will be plenty of that.

Okay, I’m not going to bore my already non-existent readers with self-important introductions. If you want to know more about this blog, read the posts or read the “About” pages I’ll be posting later. Another post will be coming later in the evening. Until then.