This story is so good you could just change the names and get it published for real.
High praise indeed but a truly ludicrous suggestion. Who would do that? Who would steal another writer’s world and sell it as if it were their own? I adored J. K. Rowling, admired her. She had built a beautiful playground in her books and had graciously allowed her fans to come play on it. Changing the names and selling the story would be a slap in the face to this world I so loved, this author I so admired.
Plus I knew I had worlds of my own waiting inside me. I didn’t need her characters. I didn’t need her world. Writing a Harry Potter novel of my own was like learning to ride a bike with training wheels on. I didn’t have to bother with the messy task of world building. She’d already built the house; I only had to decorate it in my own style. I could focus on learning the art of suspense, of creating mystery and mood, of developing sexual tension, of using humor to humanize a character. I learned to write fast and leave damn good cliffhangers at the end of each chapter to keep the readers begging for more. If I was going to do this, though, become a real writer, I would do it on my own. J. K. Rowling put in all that hard work to create her world. I wasn’t about to skip any steps or ride on anyone else’s coattails. And I sure as hell didn’t want to spend the rest of my life labeled as a rip-off artist who didn’t have the talent to come up with her own story.
I knew I didn’t need anyone else’s world or stories since I could find inspiration anywhere. I returned to my favorite muse: Jason Isaacs. He’d said in an interview that while he loved the baddies he played, just once he’d like to play a part more like himself—a neurotic Jewish British man. Could I do that, I wondered? Could I create an erotica character who was intelligent, overeducated, British, Jewish, and a bit neurotic? I could. Definitely. But he couldn’t carry the whole book. My buttoned-up Brit would need a foil, a wild child to help him loosen up. Maybe a writer like me, but a writer who lived a life far stranger than her fiction. Maybe she wasn’t just a writer either. Maybe she had another job, too. I’d always thought Jason Isaacs would look gorgeous in a black silk blindfold with his hands tied behind his back. What sort of woman would tie up a man for sex? A Dominatrix would. That would be fun, wouldn’t it? Maybe this stuffy Brit was a book editor who had to help this wild American Dominatrix with her new novel. He’d loathe her in the beginning, of course. But she wouldn’t mind. She was tough, strong, unbreakable. Maybe she had an ex-lover who’d made her that way, made her so strong. Wonder who he was . . . I had to find out. Yes, my Dominatrix writer would drive my stuffy Brit batty with her flirting and her fearlessness. He hated pain and she doled it out on purpose for money. What an odd couple. It would be like My Fair Lady but with sex. A neurotic, gorgeous, type A British editor foiled by a guttersnipe erotica writer. Perfect. I could write this novel. I would write this novel.
So I quit seminary. I moved into a friend’s closet. I got a full-time job at a bookstore. I started writing.
On May 1, 2012, The Siren, book one in the Original Sinners series by Tiffany Reisz/Corriander, was published to the best reviews that Harlequin MIRA, the publisher’s women’s fiction imprint, had seen in years. It’s the first in a series of BDSM novels featuring a quirky and beautiful Dominatrix, her various lovers (including a Catholic priest), and her wealthy and powerful clients.
And all because of a dare.
Rachel Caine is a New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of forty books, including the fanfiction-inspiring Morganville Vampire series. A published writer since 1991, Caine is living proof that fanfiction can have benefits for writers—even those who have already launched their professional careers.
Preying for More
Rachel Caine
My writing career was probably saved by my love of fanfiction and especially a particular TV show back in the late 1990s.
Bold statement, I know. And I will explain.
You know how fandoms typically become energized, then creative, then cliquish, then self-destructive? (If you didn’t, you do now.) Well, there’s one fandom that managed to stop at the “creative” point, and just . . . stay there, for a very long time. It was awesome, and to this day I’m still in touch with many of the fanfic writers who flourished there.
And you’ve probably never heard of the fandom.
The show is called Prey, and its thirteen (and only) episodes aired on ABC in 1998. Although it had an all-around excellent cast, including Adam Storke, Frankie Faison, Vincent Ventresca, and Larry Drake, it’s probably best known as the show Debra Messing appeared in before she was launched to fame in Will & Grace.
The show itself had an interesting premise: What if we came to know that serial killers had an evolutionary explanation? What if there were a whole separate species of human out there, with DNA significantly divergent from Homo sapiens, who were interested only in ensuring their own survival? What if they had an entire civilization and structure hiding among us in everyday life? It was . . . fabulous, actually. The whole premise was endlessly fascinating—especially when you factor in an epic Romeo/Juliet love story between a trying-to-reform assassin for the other side and the lovely (human) doctor who accidentally discovers the new species’ existence.
Unfortunately, TV viewers in general didn’t agree, and Prey was yanked. Dead. Gone.
But in this post-internet world, it isn’t that easy to get rid of fans . . . no, sir. We just won’t go away, will we? Granted, TV studios in particular have developed resistance against fan campaigns—all the cute stuffed animals in the world deluging their offices won’t move the cold, hard numbers—but in those relatively young and innocent days, well, we believed that anything was possible. Fans with a passion had the internet, a new method to keep connected and engaged and to conduct save-the-show campaigns, and it also helped distribute an old method of continuing a lost show: fanfic.
The Prey fandom was creatively prolific—which in some fandoms means “writing lots of really crappy stories.” That’s not what it meant among the Preymates. It meant writing really good stories, and lots of them. And participating in the process: editing, providing feedback and encouragement, and giving back—not just to others in the group, but to the world—with charity fund-raisers.
What’s even more remarkable is that these fans still communicate, and—even though there are no official DVDs of the show’s episodes—still write stories.
I should know, because I was one of those fic writers. And I still am.
A little background first. I had modest success as a professional author (writing as Roxanne Longstreet) from 1991 to about 1996, when suddenly I discovered that my sales weren’t all that a publisher could ask for, and I was (very nicely) asked to seek other venues. No problem . . . I’d gotten married, and I was able to get two more books published, as Roxanne Conrad. But right around 1998, things got complicated, because those two additional books didn’t do so well, and by 1999 I was coasting along with no publisher, no prospects, and no inspiration.
Enter Prey. Well, actually, enter Buffy, Angel, The Pretender, and a ton of other shows that became fun motivators for me, but my love affair with Prey was probably the most consistent and most productive of those lean three years. I didn’t start to write fic about the show until it was off the air—mainly because the thirteenth-episode cliffhanger was maddening, and there was just . . . no more. So I wrote a story called “Bound,” which essentially finished off the series. Just for my own satisfaction. And then, greatly daring, I posted it on my website, because . . . well. Because. And then I wrote a follow-up, “Extinction Event.” And then I thought of another direction the cliffhanger could have gone, so I started an entirely second track of stories, starting with “Flashfire.”
And I suddenly had Prey friends. They were great. They were creative, fun, energized, excited people . . . mostly adult women, mostly very good writers in their own right who brought considerable skills to the effort. We had a fantastic run of stories . . . individual stories, cowritten
stories, round-robin stories. A virtual second season of the show. More stories. Novels. It just kept going and going, for years. The only thing I can liken it to is Firefly fandom, but unlike the Browncoats, the Prey fans never had the success of other, related shows to buoy and validate their good taste. Although Prey’s showrunners, producers, and writers were excellent, they didn’t have Joss Whedon’s unifying star power to galvanize their fans.
By 1999, I was ready to quit professional writing. Quit, completely and utterly. I was still doing the occasional short story (for kindly friends—looking at you, P. N. Elrod!) and essays (like the run of Smart Pop essays I did for BenBella Books, which also helped keep me engaged and excited about the whole idea of the power of words and imagination). During this time I wrote another novel, Exile, Texas, a straight mystery/thriller; but although it was published, it also sold in not-fantastic numbers.
But mostly? Mostly it was the fic that kept me writing, from the sheer joy of creating stories in a world that I loved to inhabit. I also loved the challenge of working in a world that had clearly defined rules and characters. Unlike most fanfic writers, I didn’t want to write outside the lines; the highest compliment I could be offered was when readers confused one of my stories for an actual episode of the show (which luckily happened fairly often).
Prey is also one of the few fandoms I’ve ever been part of that didn’t collapse under the weight of “crazy.” There weren’t angry words exchanged about preferring one romantic pairing over another; there weren’t I wish this character would die rants and feuds. We all just . . . loved the show. It was peaceful, and positive, and fun. I wish more fandoms could exist that way.
So, Prey kept me working. It was my lifeboat. The feedback from my fellow Prey fanatics and fanfic writers kept me at the keyboard when it seemed like there was nothing for me there on the pro side . . . and motivated me through a total of ten short stories of considerable length, plus an entire 100,000-word novel.
In about 2001, fairly soon after I’d finished that Prey novel (Chrysalis, if you’re interested), I had an idea for another novel I thought could be fun. Did it have anything to do with Prey? No. But Prey had fired my mind in creative new ways, and what came out of it was a book later called Ill Wind, which was published in 2003 by Penguin Books under my shiny new pseudonym of Rachel Caine. It was the beginning of the Weather Warden series.
Since 2003, I’ve published nine books in the Weather Warden series, four in the Outcast Season series, two in the Red Letter Days series, one for the Athena Force shared-world series, a whopping fifteen novels in the Morganville Vampires series, and dozens of short stories in anthologies. I’ve been published in nineteen different languages, and sold somewhere approaching 3 million copies of my books. I’m a New York Times and USA Today bestseller. I’ve been number one in the UK and Australia.
My point is that it never would have happened without the fic. Without Prey fanfic in particular, I’d have likely given up during those lean years. Without Prey, I never would have found such a supportive and enthusiastic group of friends and fans (who later helped me promote Ill Wind, by the way, as did my lovely friends in the Stargate SG-1 community).
I owe you, Prey writers, showrunners, actors, and fans. I am grateful for the inspiration and the love and the friendship.
I’ll occasionally hear other writers say that fanfic is bad, that there are no professionals out there who write/wrote fanfic who will own up to it, and to that I just simply say, bullshit. I know of four NYT bestselling authors who got their start in the fic world and freely admit it, and more who have dabbled in the fic pool while also working on their own stuff.
And there’s just no reason to fear it or be ashamed of it. It’s just writing. At its best, it’s a hybrid of screenwriting and novel writing—the same structure you get in a shared world anthology, or when you cowrite with another author. It can also provide a safe space in which to experiment and try new things with your writing—things you might not be able to do in original fiction. It isn’t bad, and it isn’t bad for you. Writing is writing.
The important thing is to do your best, regardless of what you’re writing.
Having said that, fanfic is obviously not meant for profit. It is derivative work, and it’s important to understand and acknowledge that. Can you file the serial numbers off and achieve stunning success? Why, in the name of Fifty Shades of Grey, yes, you can. But I don’t advise it. It’s risky. Instead, take what you learn from fanfic to your original work.
What fanfic can do for you as a writer is to teach you about character development. It can teach you discipline and how to think in highly visual terms. And if you’re diligent, it will help you with pacing and dialogue and all those other things that seem insurmountable in an original work when you begin. When you watch a story told in the visual medium, you instinctively learn “beats”—the building blocks of pacing. You train your ear to evaluate dialogue (and to tell good dialogue from bad). Then it’s a matter of internalizing it and applying it to your characters and situations.
So how much did I love Prey? The final word count of what I wrote in Prey fanfiction: approximately 220,000 words. That’s a lot of love. And you know what? If I had the time, I’d write more. Because it’s an idea that deserved—and still deserves—all the exploration it can get.
But here’s a stunning statistic for you, if you think fanfic held me back in any way: How much have I written in original fiction since then? Rough estimate: 5 million words. And I’m writing at least half a million more, every year.
Anybody with me? Ready? Now write what inspires you.
Hey, it worked for me.
part four
FANWRITING TODAY
ALL THE FANFIC writing communities this book has discussed so far are still active. I’ve been talking about their activity during particular historical moments, but none has gone away. In putting together this book, I chose fandoms and moments I felt to be transformative but also representative of similar developments happening in other fandoms. Doing so meant sacrificing a more realistic account of simultaneous multiplicity for something closer to a coherent narrative.
That was kind of an anti-fic move, but it’s the kind of move books still by and large need to make.
By contrast, this section possibly sacrifices the coherence of narrative for some simultaneous multiplicity. Or at least that’s the plan.
By the time anyone reads this, the section would be best called Fanfiction Yesterday, or Fanfiction as It Was Several Months Ago—but that’s not so catchy. One of the primary differences between the digital and analog paper worlds, however, is time, and it’s a difference worth noticing. Fic communities can change and adapt and rewrite at a speed traditional publishing just can’t match. There’s a section of this book that deals with the relationship between publishing and fanfiction, though, and this isn’t it. Here, the focus is on what fanfiction communities are talking about. The publishing-fanfiction relationship recently pushed fan writing into the public eye, but profit has never been the fic community’s primary concern.
As of right now, there is no primary concern of the fic community—mostly because there is no unified fic community that could have a single primary concern. There are many communities, and they’re only proliferating.
Fic has looked at communities that arise around books, movies, and television shows. Within these communities, we’ve seen other, smaller communities come together around certain sexual relationships between characters—or the desire to see no sexual relationship. Fan communities organize themselves in other ways, too. There are communities that coalesce around real-life identities (gender, sexual, ethnic) and geography. There are communities that arise around particular tastes and kinks. There are even communities that arise out of opposition to other communities.
In all of these, there are people young and old who find worlds and characters that spark their imaginations, and people want to join in the fun. There are people like a former teac
her of mine who recently told me he’d posted his first fic. (Hercule Poirot fic! It’s awesome!) There’s a boy I know who writes imaginary soccer games. (Wait! Now he’s also a publishing poet! He’s fifteen!) There’s so much more going on than could fit in a book, than ever will fit in any book. This is just a very, very small taste.
Francesca Coppa is a professor of English and film studies who has written extensively on fanfiction and fan video. She has also been active in fanfiction fandom since the zines and cons of the early 1980s and the early internet fandoms of the 1990s, and so has firsthand knowledge of the mutual distrust that can exist between media corporations and the creative fan communities their properties inspire. A founder of the Organization for Transformative Works, Francesca explains how concerns about content control and fan creator rights led to the establishment of this nonprofit, fan-run organization and its fanworks archive.
An Archive of Our Own
Fanfiction Writers Unite!
Francesca Coppa
[W]e’re still left with this problem: we are sitting quietly by the fireside, creating piles and piles of content around us, and other people are going to look at that and see an opportunity. And they are going to end up creating the front doors that new fanfic writers walk through, unless we stand up and build our OWN front door.
—Astolat, 2007
The way I remember it, being a fan on the internet in 2007 felt a little like waking up surrounded by hyenas. After the 2004 O’Reilly technology conference, lots of people started talking about “Web 2.0” and “social media” and “user-generated content,” which sounded an awful lot like what fans just did naturally, except we called it “talking to each other” and “doing meta” and “making stuff.” But overnight, the creative activity of fandom had become part of somebody’s business model. Fans were quick to realize the threat and started organizing well over a year before some wag on Bash.com memorably summarized the new, exploitative economics of Web 2.0 as “You make all the content. They keep all the revenue.”
Fic: Why Fanfiction Is Taking Over the World Page 34