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!