Fic: Why Fanfiction Is Taking Over the World

by Jamison, Anne

  Of the six seven Twilight fanfics that have so far gotten contracts, four are by writers I either taught or discussed in the media. And that may have helped draw attention to them, it is true—but these fics got big contracts because they could demonstrate millions of hits. I taught them or discussed them because they were influential and popular—not the other way around. If my mention could draw millions of hits, Victorian women’s poetry would top the bestseller lists. (J. K. Rowling did take her mystery book title The Cuckoo’s Calling from a Christina Rossetti poem. Maybe it is catching on.)

  My statements to the media have been construed as both very opposed to and very much in favor of publishing fanfic, but the truth is my feelings are mixed and always have been. I worry about threats to the free exchange of ideas. I worry about it with traditional copyright, too. I worry about it in academia. I don’t think that market forces and intellectual freedom are necessarily friends. I also have literary concerns about publishing fanfics as traditional novels: to me, fics are simply richer and more interesting in context, in a community of mutually commenting texts. That is the form I found exciting and new: fanfiction as organism. While the plot structure and writing often gets tighter through editing, I don’t find the publishing process necessarily improves my reading experience. Your mileage may vary, however. Those who dislike the interventions of serialization, commentary, reviews, and other fic-related interruptions—those looking for a smooth popular commercial novel, in other words—will likely prefer the published fics. Those who are expecting the result to have a traditionally novelistic structure, however, may be disappointed even in these, as fics are usually not structured as novels and, even edited, can come off like stringing together episodes of a soap opera and expecting them to make a well-shaped feature film.

  Literary stakes, though, aren’t the only stakes I care about. I care about opportunities for writers—opportunities of all kinds for writers of all kinds. Fanfic is disproportionately written by women, queers, and others who are underrepresented in or excluded from economies of financial and cultural capital. Fanfic can be empowering for these excluded and marginalized groups: they find a voice, they use the voice they have, they reach others. For many readers and writers, this is enough, this is more than enough, and I don’t want to see that nonfinancial opportunity and reward threatened by the intervention of the same commercial culture that marginalized them in the first place.

  But. For many of these fandom writers the mass media universe isn’t the only economy in which they are marginalized or excluded. Although some do pursue successful careers in all kinds of fields (and hence may closely guard their fic identities), many successful fan writers don’t enjoy financial success or economic stability. If a writer, with the help and support of a community, manages to do that incredibly unusual thing—come up with a story that connects with tens or even hundreds of thousands of readers—and then can legally profit from it . . . I do not believe that writer—or any writer—should be shamed for pursuing that opportunity. It is true that many of the first wave of highly publicized and highly profitable published fics were written by gainfully employed professionals. It makes sense to me that this was the case; successful professionals are in a good position to be informed about copyright law, to have confidence in their own abilities, and to be used to asking for and receiving excellent compensation for their work. This background is not shared by all these newly successful writers, though, and certainly not by all fic writers. Many are struggling, unemployed or underemployed. It is not reasonable (nor tenable) to demand that all writers who have written fanfic put fanfiction above their own economic interests.

  Kara Braden—the Sherlock writer who revised her slash as heterosexual romance—explains her decision to make changes to her fic to make it more marketable in very straightforward terms:

  right now, I have a mortgage to pay, food to buy, and dogs and cats to keep in fish and chicken. My husband has been supporting my unemployed butt for two and a half years now. I want to contribute my fair share.107

  In the face of the potential for profit, noncommercial communities must be communities of choice, not coercion, and I hope and believe fanfiction will continue to flourish as a noncommercial or extra-commercial enterprise. As a writer and scholar, I have benefited from and enjoyed that system immensely. But I also I find the public shaming and humiliation of (mostly) women by other (mostly) women for wanting to benefit financially from their own creative labor to be deeply upsetting. From my perspective as a scholar of women writers and women’s history, I see this trend playing into a long tradition of shaming women for wanting compensation for work that social norms dictate should be done only out of love. Domestic work, including childcare. Teaching. Even sex work. So much of the rhetoric employed by the most strident opponents of profiting from fic recalls the rhetoric around an earlier era’s “fallen women”: publishing opponents speak of “moral repugnance,” of a “taint” that can spread moral contagion. I’ve seen those who sell fic called whores and worse—and by women who would vehemently oppose that kind of rhetoric actually being leveled at prostitutes or sexually active women.

  Some of the anger is simply that the fic writer is taking the “easy way” to publication. The argument is often raised that if an author can write such a good fic, she can write an even better “original” story. Maybe so—great!—but the ability to write that story doesn’t mean she can sell it. There is no guarantee that just because a writer can write one story that appeals to hundreds of thousands or even millions, he or she can write another. J. K. Rowling is the most successful novelist, economically, in history—but the book she wrote under another name (before being outed) sold a modest 1,500 copies despite strong reviews in important venues.

  In some ways, however, all this is a moot point. As soon as my 2010 class and I began to understand the scale of the Twilight fanfiction community and the multiple millions of hits its popular stories received, it was clear to all of us that someone was going to find a way to make money from this world. Our question was whether the actual fan creators would see any of the profit. Or would fans be exploited but “allowed” to drive website traffic and enhance brands and maybe even pay for the privilege? Would they give up all rights to the (often) highly original content they were sharing for free so that others would profit?

  The internet seems free, but someone’s always profiting. Take, for example, Archive of Our Own, a true nonprofit organization. They don’t earn, but they have costs: they pay for server space and other necessities; their users pay for internet access; and so forth. Someone profits. And what of other free-to-use but not nonprofit sites—who profits there? Access providers? Site owners who get advertising revenues or sell the site analytics? For many sites, we don’t yet know; we’re still in the “early Facebook” era, in which the idea is first to get the millions of users, then to figure out how to profit from them.

  That’s currently Wattpad’s business plan. Wattpad is a rapidly growing site for sharing and discussing original fiction and fanfiction. A little income comes in via banner advertising, but, they say, they’d rather not use a lot of that kind of advertising, as it’s annoying, invasive, and “not native.” Their ambition is to make an entirely “native digital,” non-analog reading and writing environment. Once they are an integral part of a transformed sense of reading and writing, they’ll find ways to profit. That’s the plan. And currently, as part of building up that user base, they are very much interested in fanfiction, a real growth area for them. Their site already hosts over 3 million works of fic.

  On Wattpad, it’s free to download and upload stories, original works, and fanworks. All the content on the site is user generated. Writers retain all ownership rights to “User Submissions”; Wattpad claims a nonexclusive right of distribution, but does not sell the fiction posted to their site, and its terms of service say the site itself is not to be used for contributor’s own commercial purposes. Even so, right now the site is averaging 15 m
illion unique views per month. As of July 2013, they have 22 million uploads of user content and around $20 million in venture capital. Their plan for profit is to wait and see; they seem writer- and reader-friendly and well-intentioned. My plan on judging Wattpad’s eventual methods for profiting from their site is to wait and see right along with them. They may find paths to profit that add value to reader- and writer-experience and that seem less exploitative than some other schemes that have raised fan ire. In all circumstances, though, I do think fan writers should be careful and informed about who does profit from their work, and how.

  Also in the category of wait and see—for the moment—is Kindle Worlds. While the current verdict seems to be that this plan is more a crowdsourced licensing scheme than true fanfic (too many rules), it’s a sign of the times that here, fic is a brand, an attraction that “spin-offs” or “tie-ins” aren’t. Again, jury’s out. John Scalzi made an early but very influential post about Kindle Worlds. He quotes the Amazon terms he finds problematic and then responds:

  “We will also give the World Licensor a license to use your new elements and incorporate them into other works without further compensation to you.”

  i.e., that really cool creative idea you put in your story, or that awesome new character you made? If Alloy Entertainment likes it, they can take it and use it for their own purposes without paying you—which is to say they make money off your idea, lots of money, even, and all you get is the knowledge they liked your idea.108

  Scalzi worries that Kindle Worlds creates a cut-rate idea mine that rightsholders can simply exploit without further investment in or compensation to writers. Scalzi’s perspective is, of course, from the professional side of the equation. Most fan writers have been much more concerned about Kindle Worlds’ potential impact on fanfic more broadly. Will this platform simply introduce the same normative corporate control against which many have turned to fic as a form of resistance? Will it give rightsholders increased desire or incentive to stamp out free fanfic? Heidi Tandy isn’t worried from a legal perspective:

  Does the existence of Kindle Worlds and similar publisher/IP rightsholder projects impact those who write and share fanfic for free, even if they do so on sites that have ads, Amazon or Apple Associate links, and other small income-producing elements?

  I don’t think it’s realistic to be concerned that the existence of Kindle Worlds will mean that TV show/film/book creators will stamp out all freely given fics. At this point, for all existing fandoms, the longstanding laches issue that protects fics posted elsewhere and given away will still impact what The Powers That Be can and cannot do. Laches means that if a fanficcer relies on the fact that a copyright holder has allowed creative fans to share their fics, art, vids, and films, they cannot later be barred from sharing what they create, especially if it starts out as noncommercial and stays that way.

  However, it does mean that people who write in the fandoms covered by Kindle Worlds and who sell ebooks of those stories outside of the Kindle license may find themselves dealing with cease and desist letters. But there was always a chance they might because of the commercial aspect of that action.

  Kindle Worlds and the commercialization of some fanfics may bring questions on issues other than legality that will impact the fan-created gift culture, mainstreaming of fannishness, commissions, fundraising for charity, or even the ability of pro writers to write in other universes, and those are questions we cannot answer in the summer of 2013. But there’s certainly a lot of people who are interested in the discussion.

  By the time this volume is published, the verdict on Kindle Worlds that is very much still out may well be in; it may peter out, or there may be more ventures trying to license fic, to harness—or to rein in—fanfiction’s energy. But I don’t believe publishing fanworks will end fanfiction, even as the fanwriting community continues to change, as it always has. The fact is, there are many more people who enjoy writing and sharing stories than will ever be able to make a living from it, or want to. There are more kinds of stories than will ever be mass marketable. Fanfiction enables these stories to find readers, and readers to find stories. Even for professional writers, fanfiction allows freedoms (of length, format, and content) that the market simply doesn’t. Sharing versions of beloved stories and characters creates common ground that fosters conversation, creativity, and community. It’s a system that works, and despite new challenges, fic seems only to be gaining steam.

  Tiffany Reisz is author of the Original Sinners series of BDSM-themed erotic romances published by Harlequin. A seminary dropout, she discovered her passion for writing about passion when she tried her hand at fanfiction on a dare.

  Just Change the Names

  Tiffany Reisz

  My name is Tiffany Reisz, and that is my real name. It’s the name I live under, and the name I write under because they are one and the same to me. But once upon a time, I had a different name. While a student at a conservative Southern seminary, working on dual master’s in theology and biblical studies, I found my creativity and personality being stifled by my evangelical classmates and their narrow worldview. I didn’t want to quit school, but I had to find an outlet for the real Tiffany, the one with the weird, erotic imagination who was slowly going mad while listening to people who called themselves Christians talk about why they supported low taxes on the rich and sending poor kids to foreign wars.

  Salvation came in the form of an email from a friend of mine. The email contained a link and that link led to a story. It was a work of erotic fanfiction. The story—I don’t even remember the name—centered on the villainous Colonel Tavington from the film The Patriot. I read the story with pleasure. Who wouldn’t enjoy an erotic romp with a randy redcoat? Especially one as devastatingly handsome as Jason Isaacs, the Oscar-nominated British actor who played him. I had one simple complaint with the story—the writing. I told my friend I adored the erotic images in the story, but I could write better smut than that with my eyes closed. She dared me to try.

  Never dare me to do anything. I will do it.

  While on spring break from seminary, I sat down at my mother’s two-ton HP desktop computer and pounded out the first 9,000 words of a novella about Colonel Tavington and his seduction of a virginal loyalist whose house (and body) he’d commandeered. My irritation with the story my friend had sent me was how un-Tavington-like the Tavington character was. The author made him rather sweet and sentimental, an old softie behind all that murdering and church burning he did in the movie. Nonsense. I loved him for his unapologetic villainy, not in spite of it. I did my best to capture his terse, intelligent sarcasm, his sneering seductiveness. I made the sex scenes rougher and more violent while being less explicit, less pornographic. Erotica should make a girl want to shove her hand down her panties, not shove the book in the trash can. So no “creaming pussies” or “throbbing staffs of manhood” in my story. If I was going to write erotica about a borderline sociopath ravishing an innocent who’d do anything to protect her household, including submitting to sex with a monster, I was going to be classy about it.

  Once I completed the story, I posted it on the same forum as the short I’d read that inspired this whole nonsense. As a seminary student, I could have been heavily disciplined for engaging in the distribution of pornographic works. Adult students weren’t allowed to have sexual intercourse outside of marriage without risking expulsion. I was under a vow of celibacy and didn’t like it one bit. If I was going to write and post smut online, I’d have to be sneaky about it.

  One of my favorite books as a child was Michael Ende’s The Neverending Story. My favorite character was the old bookshop owner, Mr. Coreander. I co-opted the name and posted the story as “Corriander.” Up the story went, and I didn’t think much of it until comments and compliments and cries for more began to pour in. A professional journalist and fellow Jason Isaacs fan emailed me to tell me I wrote the best dialogue she’d ever read. Those 9,000 words garnered me more attention, adulation, and self-
confidence than anything I’d ever done in my entire life.

  Soon homework fell by the wayside as I poured myself into finishing the story. I wrote a chapter a week and posted them over the next month and a half. In two months I’d completed an 80,000-word novel. And I couldn’t stop writing. I had to write more. Jason Isaacs’ other hugely famous role was that of Lucius Malfoy in the Harry Potter movies. I couldn’t deny I found his sinister powers and long blond hair alluring. Fans begged me for a Lucius story. How could I tell them no?

  Writing a Harry Potter story freed me considerably from the constraints of historical fiction. I knew almost nothing of the American Revolution, but Harry Potter took place in the nineties, in a world we very much recognized as our own, where I could reference popular culture and make jokes. I conceived of a feisty teenager heroine who would get roped into this magical world and would mock it at every corner. I thought of the poem “Leda and the Swan,” by William Butler Yeats. A powerful wizard seducing a normal teenage girl summoned the image of the god Zeus descending onto the mortal Leda. I named my story Leda and filled it with sex and jokes and even David Bowie references (there’s a running gag in Leda that David Bowie is actually a wizard, because, let’s face it, he probably is).

  At the time there was no hotter fandom in the world than Harry Potter. Those seven books had spawned thousands of works of fanfiction, mostly short stories and novellas but also a few sprawling novels like mine. Every chapter of Leda I posted online began racking up dozens of comments. I was nominated for fanfiction awards. Readers started naming their pets after my characters. A few even begged for my real name and address so they could send me gifts. People translated the story into their native languages. I even recall popping into a chat room and having someone ask me, “Are you THE Corriander?” Yes, I guess I was. And over and over again I received the same comment: