The latest redaction of the fic-for-sale kerfuffle has turned into a discussion on Making Light about fanfic, mostly from a pro-writing point of view, and because it's TNH, and TNH knows where it's *at*, it's also mostly pro-fanfic (in the other sense of pro, that is.)

Read her comments - it says stuff about fanfic which I've wanted to say for a long time, and is much better written than I could manage it, too.

And then docbrite left a dissenting opinion in a comment.

(And no, I will *never* get used to the way that really amazing people can just pop up out of nowhere on the internet and jump into a conversation. It's almost as bad as suddenly finding out that the professor whose class I'm slacking off in is the same guy who came up with one of my favorite theories. And at least as cool.)

Poppy Z. Brite's opinions on fic really aren't that difficult, as anti-fan authors go. All she really seems to be saying (in this and other comments by her that I've fallen across) is that she's tried but she doesn't like writing or reading it and so she doesn't see why anyone else should either. That's a fallacy that most *fans* get beaten out of them pretty early on these days, so at least that's one thing we've got going for us. But that sort of calm but patronizing comment from somebody I respect is at least as disturbing as the most vitriolic idiocy, because it'll twig my 'I want to be liked!' reflex and then I feel bad. Plus, it almost sounds reasonable on first reading.

In the comment I saw today, docbrite compares fanfic written about her work to somebody sneaking up and goosing her husband. "Sure, it means they care, but ick."

Ms. Brite, you've got the wrong metaphor. We're not molesting your husband. We're dating your daughters.

(This isn't really aimed at docbrite, by the way, but at the attitudes of anti-fanfic writers in general, especially those who are far less reasonable about it than she is -- her metaphor today just gave me a jumping-off point, because I love doing indecent things to other people's metaphors.)

( So basically, fanfic=sex. Just metaphorically. Not literally. Well, usually not literally. Really. )

There's no such thing as just a story.

ETA: And in the normal course of Internet serendipity, a languagelog thread about a young published author who has been accused of plagiarism on much the same basis that cassieclaire was, back in the days when ff.net was young, and the mixing that is an inevitable part of the creative process. Cross-pollination on a much smaller scale than story, and *still* inevitable.

And while I'm at it, some enlightenment from my flist: stellar_dust explains why writing original fic instead is not the answer; beccaelizabeth solves the mystery of why the concept of fanfic has to exist in the first place. webbapettigrew sells some more books! p.s.: if anybody cares more than me about buying me birthday presents, hint. chaucerhathblog gets a c&d.

I walked at *least* five miles today over very hilly terrain (plus three classes and the train ride), while carrying a 30-pound backpack. And yet, I'm not *hungry*. I'm running on three servings of milk, a slice of leftover chocolate cake, and half a bowl of breakfast cereal, and I don't want anything else. And it's not the slightly nauseous feeling that comes with being too hungry, either; it's not accompanied by the logy too-little-butter-too-much-bread feeling; I wander around the kitchen and just-don't-want-anything. I need to take long walks in the fresh air and sunlight more often, 'cause it's better than food. I'm going to go find a can of fruit and nibble on it while watching the House & Wilson show. Meanwhile, have an unexpected groundhog.

ETA: God wants House and Wilson to go out. *GOD* wants House and Wilson to go out. This is better than that Krycek crackfic with the talking list! ... and Alan isn't even pretending to try to hide it anymore.