mel. enfj. i like rainy days and messy beds, lipstick on coffee mugs and that strange perfect laughter that bubbles up like splashes of champagne in your chest
The real irony is there is plenty of fanfiction that goes through more rigorous editing than some published fiction. So the difference in quality between fanfiction and “professional writing” is totally arbitrary and made up. Except that some things that are more expensive are worse.
Fanfic has really raised my standards for what constitutes good writing.
Unfortunately it’s only the worst of fanfic that’s visible to the public. Like 50 Shades is Crap.
The difference between fanfiction and published fiction is the barrier of entry (if we ignore self-publications for a hot sec). You can write and write and write and send in manuscript after manuscript and still never get a publishing deal - or you can go on Ao3 and hit that post button. This does lead to wildly differing standards of quality, but it also allows *everyone* to share their ideas and to practice and gain an audience.
It’s like @crossroadswrite said, “everyone gets a chance to be heard and to be read” with fanfiction. And that’s threatening to a lot of the industry.
Even my father has read one (1) fanfic, at my urging.
It’s a Peter Wimsey and Jeeves & Wooster crossover.
His words after finishing it?
He’d never before considered why Bertie was exactly as he was. In this fic, it’s because Bertie has PTSD.
Now, that doesn’t quite mesh with the Book-publishing timeline, but only by the first instalment. Which he’s decided doesn’t matter because the explanation is too perfect.
That fic (Green Ice, I cannot recall the author’s name) is to my father a revelation. He read it in one night, couldn’t put it down.
“Since I’ve had to be without your sweetest presence, I have not wished to hear or see any other human being, but as the turtle-dove, having lost its mate, perches forever on its little dried up branch, so I lament endlessly till I shall enjoy your trust again. I look about and do not find my lover — she does not comfort me even with a single word.
Indeed when I reflect on the loveliness of your most joyful speech and aspect, I am utterly depressed, for I find nothing now that I could compare with your love, sweet beyond honey and honeycomb, compared with which the brightness of gold and silver is tarnished. What more?”
She is slow and steady; all things persistent and consistent— and like a flower she will bloom into something remarkable, if you let her.
She is a lover of simple pleasures and little treasures. She plays attention to every note, and a sweet melody plays in her mind. She is a rarity to find; Mozart’s last untouched symphony left behind.
today my prof said to my class “you don’t truly love someone until they’ve hurt you and you still think of them as the greatest person in the world. Love is the most violent act.” ok ok ok
men are so fucking weird and scary? don’t let any man ever convince you love is supposed to be painful or violent. don’t let any man justify his wrongful actions by saying they’re just part of what True Love is.