Feels Like Fanfiction

I’ve decided that since I can’t manage to keep up with a blog about my life, I’ll try to keep up with a blog about my random thoughts. Let this be the first.

More than once, I have told writers that their writing “feels like fanfiction.” Most times, there work is not fanfiction or in any way related to it (though once, after making this comment, I was rewarded with the confession that the piece of work I was reviewing was a synthesis of several fandoms). But I’ve thought about it, and I feel I need to define what makes a story feel like fanfiction. I used to punctuate by intuition, so I could never tell people how to fix their punctuation. Now that I know the majority of the rules, it’s easier to help the punctuation-challenged. Thus, I can only surmise that it will be easier for me to help fanfiction-feeling writers if I can define what makes a story feel like a spinoff of a beloved book, game, or movie.

First let me begin by saying that there are some fanfictions—a meager percentage, but still a strong number—that feature superb writing. Fanfiction also serves as a wonderful forum for honing writing skills without the baggage of notebooks full of prewriting.

That said, the genre of fanfiction also attracts a large number of less-than-mediocre storytellers. When I say something feels like fanfiction, I’m referring to the work of these storytellers. So, first I will list some of the things that most bother be about these sub-par stories.

1. Overly detailed description that does not further the overall plot or even the action of a particular scene. These descriptions are largely in reference to characters, especially main characters. The reasoning, as far as I can see: all specifics of the fandom must be preserved, and any ideas unique to the fanfiction must be enumerated on, because otherwise what is there to distinguish this work? These descriptions can also be due to an over-crafting of the physical appearance of any main character that has been added to the fandom for purposes of the fanfiction. Which leads me to point 2.
2. Strong attachment to a particular character, whether it be one lifted from the fandom or one invented to infiltrate the fandom. This is largely what drives a fanfiction of the less-than-mediocre sort. It is not a character development that is fascinating; it is the character’s current state of being. This defeats the purpose of having a character arc, which is often the point of a story. Characters are never infallible. Even Sherlock Holmes, the genius of crime solving, is occasionally bested in the set of stories from A. Conan Doyle. Even Holmes must accept infrequent defeat, or at least less than he was aiming for. When a strong fanfiction-like attachment is formed toward a character, every aspect of that character must be detailed, and that character is more or less perfect, even in his or her flaws, because the writer is obsessed with him or her. This brings on point 3.
3. Lack of conflict. Oh, there might be apparent obstacles or occasional hiccups, there’s no denying that. No one wants to read about anyone sitting around having a lovely time doing nothing, at least not for any length of time. But these meager obstacles and hiccups never try the character who is so beloved, and that is the point of conflict. Conflict is meant to tax characters, to push and challenge them. It is meant to drain on their faculties and force them to find or create reserves they never thought possible. When I say “lack of conflict,” what I mean is lack of true challenge.

So, returning to original fiction that smells of fanfiction. When I say something feels like fanfiction and I’ve only seen a small sampling, it is usually because of point 1. There is overly detail description that serves no purpose. It’s all fine and good to know exactly what your character looks like, but it isn’t usually necessary for all the details to be forced on the reader. Readers like to see things for themselves. If your purpose is to entertain your reader, give them what they like. Do not, ever, put the story on hold for the sake of description. Long chunks of description should always grow organically from the story. For example, if a strange man barges into my room late and night and begins talking as though he knows me, I’m going to examine him thoroughly to try to discover why he’s doing so. Do I recognize his laughably beakish nose? Is his gravelly voice familiar? Do his eyes tingle at my memory? Or does his clothing or manner suggest that he knows me through another acquaintance? Does he, for example, sport the tell-tale raccoon-eye tan lines of a lifeguard or pool-goer? In this instance, every detail would be worth something to me. If I’m meeting my friend on the bench we always meet at, on the same day we always meet, with her looking exactly the same as she always does, I’m much less likely to stop and note her every feature.

Forced or artificial description smells of fanfiction in an unpleasant way. It is also the first step to falling to the other fatal signs of mediocre writing. Don’t let it happen to you!

The Bee's Knees

Today, the rugby team's assistant coach fnally noticed that I wear kneebraces and asked about my joint situation. It made me laugh that he's taken this long to figure it out. I mean, I've had to drop out of a couple of running exercises to rest my knees when they spaz out already.

Anyway, Sunday I cut my roommate's hair. Yes. You read correctly. Me. Cutting hair. And yes, I know what you're thinking too. Apparently it isn't so bad. I, being afflicted of a peculiar state of mind, don't find it all that appealing because I did it. (There are two kinds of people in this world: people with author's disease and people with director's disease. The former never think what they do is good enough. The latter think that nothing anyone does is as good as theirs. And I probably butchered that quote, but oh well.) I can also pinpoint parts I didn't do well, like the bangs on the right side of her face. I was trying to taper them, but while the left side blends perfectly, the right side drops abruptly from where I was tapering to where I wasn't. It's somewhat sketchy, if not always obvious. Anyway, the whole ordeal was traumatic for me.

Wing

I officially have a position now. It's not one I would have expected, because they're typically supposed to be on the faster side of things, but I'm fine with it. The wing position in rugby is a support sort of position, with an emphasis on helping the fullback defend from kicks and ensuring there is an open pass to the outside for when people are in trouble. I like support positions. It's what I do instinctively anyway, so being over there is wonderful.

But there is a weird new twist I have to deal with: plays.

In swimming, we obviously never had plays. There was strategy involved on several levels, but plays were not or ever will be a part of it. In soccer, our team had tricks and stuff, but they were generally on the simple level of give-and-go's . . . or, I suppose, kicking the ball way past the defenders and having Mindy or Natasha use their sweet awesome speed to get it in a wide-open manner. That would have worked better if Natasha had any capacity to aim. Anyway, in water polo the closest thing we had was a few driving patterns, but I never had to do them, really. I called them. Every so often I would set a pick, but other than that we just did what worked.

But in rugby, I already have nine plays I need to memorize, and I think three more that fall under "common calls" that the new people still don't know. It's a different dynamic, for sure.

In other news, we learned how to tackle and be tackled, which was oodles and oodles of fun and glee. Actually, my neck is sore from tackling people, because you actually use your neck muscles to drive people to the ground.

We also learned a few different ways to kick it, and despite my wariness of my foot skills (ballhandling in soccer was never a high point for me), I was actually pretty good at one of them. It's a sort of up-and-over kick where you chip it over bunch of people coming at you, run past them, and catch your own ball. It's a pass to yourself, if you will. It works because you can't be tackled if you don't have the ball.

My passing is getting better, and I'm catching a bit better too.

Oh, and my calves are regaining their beautifully muscled look. It makes me happy that they're coming back. I missed them so!

Retreat

Rugby is going on a retreat to Park City this weekend. It's totally a flashback to early swim years. I mean, one of my former swim/polo captains is leading the team around in many endeavors, and we're going to Park City to bond and lay down the essentials. It makes me think about swim a lot, and my old team, and how much I miss them, and how I'm going to miss the region swim meet because I'm on rugby retreat, and all the stupid-funny-ridiculous things I did with the swim team, and how great it felt to be on the deck with my swim fam. But it also gives me all this hope for the rugby team, and most of the hope I don't feel will come to fruition, simply because the terms have changed in so many ways that rugby can never be swim. But the similarites make my tummy jolt around.

It's a big jumble of stuff going on in my gut, y'know?

On the other hand, I'm thrilled that I have to buy a mouthguard tomorrow. Oh, and one of the coaches said I'll probably be playing a back position (unless I rebel, and I don't care enough at this point to do so), so that means scrum-half, fly-half, fullback, or a center (I won't play wing, 'cause I'm not fast enough). It also means I probably won't be in the mass of humanity that is a scrum, trying not to break my neck. It does mean I'll probably be tackled a lot, though, so I'll be lying on the ground trying to avoid cletes while my team and the enemy get into shoving contests over top of me. When I get in the game, that is.

Post-Conditioning Condition

Conditioning for rugby has started. Now, I knew it would be hard to get back in shape.

I just didn't know how much pain I'd be in.

All in all, I'm not doing too poorly as far as running and whatnot goes. Force of will and muscle memory from my distance track days tends to keep me in front of the middle of the pack. I'm not up near the front of everyone, but I'm in front of the pack on the run-as-far-as-you-can-in-such-and-such-a-time things. Stairs are another matter, mainly because I forgot my knee braces the first time we did them. Ouch to the fourth power. I didn't walk so well after that. But today when we did them, during the last set I was beating my partner, who whupped my butt last time. We've also done some intense ab work, core body work, and arm work (the arm work tends to turn out well; at least I've retained something of my shoulder strength).

What this means is not that I'm making a pitiful showing as far as conditioning is going. What it means is that I have been without a fully functional muscle system since Tuesday. More or less any movement causes pain, my walk after sitting for long periods is very jerky, standing still and upright for more than a few minutes hurts my back, I can't kneel down--or even crouch--without collapsing, my shoulders ache, and I think my Achilles tendon is hurting (it seems too low to be my calf muscle proper). Laughing hurts, climbing stairs when not at high speed REQUIRES a handrail (mainly so I can lay on top of it), and stretching is my new favorite pasttime.

So see, it's not that I can't do what is being asked of me. It's just that my body greatly protests what my mind and will are putting it through.

The good news: I go to bed at a reasonable hour because I crash early and I have scheduled all my homework to be finished, or nearly so, before practice. And the weekend starts after eleven o'clock tomorrow (practice is from 9-11:00 :D). I can start recooperating then.