Archive for the ‘Fan Fiction’ Category

To Touch Someone


08 Sep

I wrote a scathing article nearly two years ago (that I cannot find, of course) that lit into fan fiction, and fan fiction writers. I was still caught up in that mindset that it was important for me to get my original work formally published. Myself and several other authors would talk and then complain about how no one ever, EVER commented on our original work. Take a look at my story archives — some of my most popular posts are the stories and poems in there, but barely 1% of the people reading those stories ever bothered to comment.

This is an old complaint, and a mystery. It isn’t just me. I have my original work, some of my best pieces, published at Fiction Press where I’ve met many authors who are trying to figure this out.

Well, I bowed out on that mystery as it is one that will be debated and dissected long after I am gone. Leaving that behind also set me onto a new path (that really was an old one).

When I was a kid growing up, I told stories to anyone who listened to me. Some were made up on the fly, never to be heard again, but very much appreciated by my audience. Some I wrote down, and those were also appreciated. I also told stories that were inspired by shows (Star Trek, The Addams Familly, The Munsters) and books (Treasure Island).

It didn’t matter where the story came from. What I enjoyed was telling the story to an audience that showed their appreciation.

As I thought about some recent creative efforts that were coming to naught, and generally gave me more of a headache than new visions, I stayed away from the computer for a long while.

Then I read Deathly Hallows by J. K. Rowling. I was not saddened by Snape’s death, I was angry. I had no problem with the character dying. I had expected that would happen. What I didn’t expect was the way in which the character was killed and how it was so easily brushed under the rug. (There is so much about that book that chaps my hide, but that’s a post or rant for another day).

Choosing to deny not just Snape’s death, but the deaths of so many loved characters, I sought out fan fiction to give it another chance. I found, literally, hundreds of stories that kept Snape and other characters alive and gave them new adventures and fascinating lives. I began reading the stories I enjoyed the most: romance stories that used a created, original character for Snape to fall in love with, or the genre that has Snape becoming mentor to Harry, adopting him, or even turning out to be his real father.

What I found was that there were some very good fan fiction authors out there who wrote in the Harry Potter universe better than Rowling herself did. It was, to say the least, an eye opener.

After reading for some time, I decided to try my own hand at writing a story. Long story about another story, short… I not only wrote a 91 chapter fan fiction story, but it was longest, most continuous and finished story I’d ever written. But, the cream on that was the feedback I have received during the writing of Back in Time, and after it was completed. Here is some absolutely wonderful feedback I received yesterday:

Story: Back in Time
Chapter: 91. Epilogue

Thank you, thank you, THANK YOU for writing about Eowyn’s fear of going off
to Hogwarts. I’m a Freshman at a huge college in a city several thousand miles
from home where I know only my 3 roommates and a girl at another college. Your
description of Eowyn sounds just like me: quiet, a bookworm, afraid of seeming
‘uninteresting’ to people, everything. I’ve been called ‘weird’ and ‘too
quiet’ by many people.

Snape’s words of comfort to Eowyn really struck something inside me. When I
read his dialogue with his daughter, I felt like someone had heard how I felt,
how afraid of being friendless, how intimidated I was by the vast amount of
new people I had to meet at school, and decided to comfort me; when I read
“but we all must bear many things we don’t like in order to attain that which
we desire” and “You are different, though, and you may not appreciate that
this moment, but you will sooner than you think. All of us are different,” I
cried.

I just want you to know how much I love your handling of Snape as a father. I
don’t often read fics where Snape adopts Draco and Harry, or stories where
Hermione and Draco get together. I wasn’t sure if I liked the pairings at
first, but they have grown on me. Lyrica sounds like someone we all wish to
know, a good mother and friend, Snape the somewhat-scary, protective father.

Again, -thank you- for all the time and effort you have put into this.

This makes whatever I write, original or fan fiction, worth the time I put into it. I told a story, folks appreciated it, and for some people, it touched them.

That’s a helluva lot more satisfying than putting myself through the wringer to please an editor in order to publish one, original story.

-+-+-+-+-

My completed fan fiction can be found here.
My original stories and poems can be found here and here.

Famous Storytellers –

Tim Burton & Vincent Price

Tim Burton & Vincent Price

The Snake & The Wolf


13 Apr

This is an original fairy tale I wrote as a story within a story for my current Harry Potter fanfiction, Second Chance Take Two. Severus Snape writes the following fairy tale for his son (de-aged Harry, age 7) who is experiencing nightmares he feels helpless against.

Most of the situations in the story are inspired by my own childhood with my brothers. The chapter I wrote the following story for is a nod to my mother who helped us in unique, and creative ways, to deal with our nightmares. So, for my mother who once wrote me a similar “magical” story, I give you the tale of The Snake & The Wolf:

Analise was the prettiest and kindest little girl in her village. Her mother, Tama, adored her, and everyone, it seemed only thought well of the child. For Analise it seemed there was no evil in her small world.

But evil is never far, and it was said that there was evil in the forest that crept along the border of the village. Brave hunters might enter, but children were warned from birth not to step foot into the forest, else they might vanish… or worse.

However, there was another evil besides the forest that lived and walked amongst the villagers. It was the Blacksmith, Kalik, who wanted Analise’s lovely mother. Kalik was a selfish man who never took ‘no’ for an answer. He was handsome, too, and charming when he wished to be. Tama only saw this when the Blacksmith came to call, and before long, she and the Blacksmith wed.

The Blacksmith did not care for Analise for she was not his true child and so he began to plan a way to get rid of the child where Analise’s mother would suspect nothing. Tama would mourn and Kalik would comfort her. Then, he would give Tama strong sons until she forgot about her cornsilk-haired child.

One day the Blacksmith announced he had to travel to Market for a new horse and a few new tools. He offered to take Analise with him. Analise was delighted by such an adventure for she had only heard the wondrous tales of the Market. Her mother was wary, but her husband assured her that the sun was high in the sky, and they would return well before it fell. Travel through the forest, with the strong Blacksmith, would be nothing for Analise’s mother to worry about.

Trusting her husband, Tama waved farewell to her only child, and watched, with only the tiniest of trepidation, as the cart with her husband and daughter faded into the forest.

Analise enjoyed the ride and the forest. It really didn’t seem at all that frightening during the day. It was beautiful, and cool, and the slender trunks of the trees were bold strokes of earthen colour against the green leaves. She delighted in the birdsong that followed them, and the scents were heady, exotic, even.

She wasn’t a very talkative child, which made it easier for the Blacksmith to contemplate his subsequent actions as he spurred on his horses to a gallop. As the cart gained in speed, it bumped terribly on the uneven path. Analise tried to hang on as she was bounced about on the hard seat of the cart, and she would have been fine had not the Blacksmith given her a mighty shove that sent her little body flying from the cart.

As the Blacksmith drove further into the woods he laughed harshly. Analise fell to the ground, bruised but not terribly hurt. Perhaps if she’d been a bit older, her bones more strengthened by age, she might have been terribly hurt, or even killed. She was dazed, and lay where she’d fallen, upon the soft, moss-carpeted floor of the forest for some minutes. Her gaze blinked against the dappled sunlight overhead, and she sighed.

Analise was a wholly remarkable child. She could have cried… well, she did sniffle a bit because she missed her mother, but she had heard too many tales of the evil forest at night. The smart little girl knew that if she were to see her mother again, she must keep her wits about her.

Rising to her feet, Analise dusted off her pinafore and swept her long, blonde hair out of her face and squared her shoulders.

Watching the dust drifting back down to the ground from the long, gone cart, Analise did feel the tears prickling at her eyes. She really wanted her mother, but to be realistic, her mother wasn’t here and she was.

For a time, Analise wandered along the cart path, but it began to fade, becoming swallowed up by weeds, snaking vines, and creeping moss. She couldn’t say when, but she soon found herself surrounded by the trees. They seemed to be moving closer to her, circling her, and somehow they didn’t seem as beautiful anymore.

No child is perfectly brave, no matter how much they try to be. Analise succumbed to her fear of being in the evil forest all alone, away from her mother, and literally thrown away by the cruel Blacksmith.

“I want my mummy!” she cried softly, not bothering to wipe away the tears that fell down her cheeks.

“Sssss,” came a soft, sibilance that seemed to wend its way around the weeping little girl.

“Who is that?” sniffled Analise.

“Sssweet child, alone in my foressst.” A beautiful snake of iridescent green and sapphire blue slithered over Analise’s feet.

Other children would scream at such contact and run away, but not Analise. She’d always liked snakes and had never found them to be either terrifying, nor dangerous.

“Hello, pretty sssnake,” she said as her voice took on the hissing hue of the snake language.

“You underssstand me, sssmall human?” asked the snake slithering closer.

“I do. My mummy sssaysss it isss a gift my father’sss ancessstorsss gave me.” She pet the snake’s smooth head lightly with her finger.

“Sssuch a gift it isss. I sssaw the male of your ssspeciesss throw you away. Are you bad?” The snake curled up in her lap, luxuriating in the child’s warmth.

“Sssometimesss I am bad and mummy ssspanksss me. My new father doesss not care for me ssso he got rid of me. I want to go home, but the foressst isss evil and I won’t live when night fallsss.”

“Ahhh, the tale mothersss tell their eggsss to keep them sssafe. I have heard thossse. The foressst is no more dangerousss than your village isss, child. Danger comesss from not knowing how to sssurvive the night. I will keep you sssafe.”

“You will?” Analise asked in delight.

“You ssspeak the Sssong of the Ssserpent, sweet egg. It isss my duty to your ancessstor to keep you sssafe and deliver you to your mother.”

So Analise spent the night with the beautiful snake. It showed her how to gather up leaves to create a warm bed against the chill of the night and told her stories to keep her happy and to chase away the nightmare of the evil Blacksmith.

As Analise slept, the other creatures of the forest came, but were warned by the snake that she was its ‘egg’ and under her protection. A wolf, that was friend to the snake, listened carefully as the snake told about how the child was thrown from the cart by an evil human.

“I know this man,” growled the wolf, careful not to wake the sleeping child. “He smiles, speaks words of honey, but I have seen the bodies of those he has hurt. Your egg will not be safe if he returns to the village.”

What no one knew was that Kalik the Blacksmith was a truly evil man with a heart as Dark as the darkest night. For several years children had vanished from their mothers and fathers hearths in the surrounding villages, never to be seen again. Kalik, afraid that his horrid darkness might be discovered hoped that a marriage to the eligible Tama would throw any suspicion from him. Thus, he might continue his games with innocent children.

At daybreak the wolf left the sleeping child in care of the snake who had claimed her, and went to find his brothers.

In the village, Tama had spent a night of grief over the loss of her beloved child. Kalik had returned just before dusk with a grand tale of robbers that had overturned his cart, took his new tools, his money, and captured Analise. He wept, crocodile tears, with his wife, as he related his tale to any that would listen. In his shriveled heart, he crowed and laughed at his success, again making a promise that he would give Tama sons to replace the dead child. Sons, he would teach his games to.

Much later the next morning, the wolf returned to the snake and the little girl. Analise was afraid at first, but the snake assured her egg that the wolf was a friend. The wolf told the snake of the Blacksmith’s story and that all in the village mourned Analise’s death.

A plan was made to keep Analise in the forest, safe with the creatures, until the Blacksmith had to journey to the town again. The snake explained the plan, but did not elaborate on what the wolf and his brother intended for the vile Blacksmith. Analise was content with her new-found friends, knowing that eventually she’d return to her mother’s arms.

A few strategic midnight raids upon the Kalik’s smithy where the wolves removed vital tools, meant the Blacksmith had to return to town before he had planned. So, two days after his journey where he’d gotten rid of his step-daughter, he got out his cart, made his goodbyes to his wife, and made his way to town.

The wolves were waiting. They made certain to visit upon the Blacksmith all the pain and terror he had caused the innocents.

By late afternoon, the snake and the wolf brought Analise back to the edge of the village. She ran all the way to her home and burst into the small house and threw herself into her startled mother’s home. Tama was so overjoyed at the return of her daughter she wept. Later, she listened in horror as Analise, who had never been known to lie, told her mother the true story of what happened.

The Blacksmith never returned and the forest lost its aura of evil as Analise’s friend, the wolf, and his brothers, became the Protectors of the village.

No more children disappeared, and the village thrived, as did the lovely Analise, who one day told her story of her marvelous friends to her own children, and then to her grandchildren.

I’m Melting! Oh What a World!


03 Mar

Maybe not melting… at least not yet. The weather demon is still predicting snow.

Anyway, I just noticed something is not quite right with the horror writing, sarcastic, gothic-wannabe chick– me.

There are currently, no less than three romance novels on my bookshelf that have been read. They’re your dark, brooding sorts, and one’s a vampire, but the fact is, they are ROMANCE NOVELS!!!

wtf?

When I was a teenager I read one gothic romance. It was quite good, but I never could find any others like it, so I forgot about it. My next foray into romance novels was a Barbara Cartland novel. Thankfully, I still can’t go near those without wanting to gag. Honestly, the women that read those like they’re candy comfits have a serious problem.

Now I’m wondering what my problem is. I just ordered four romance novels from Amazon. Someone shoot me now.

Although, they are not the “bodice ripper” type, thank god! I’ll go jump off the bridge into the Spokane River if ever I grab a book that has one of those ripped shirt guys on it. Blech. Sorry Fabio fans, I think he’s a twit.

clive-owen-2-7707202

He’s just dark and brooding all over. He needs to be on the cover of one of my books.

appaloosa-irons

He’s versatile.

rickman

Count yourself lucky I chose this fellow instead of Snape.

sweeney_todd

Mmmm okay… this one’s a bit too far over the dark and brooding line. He’s psycho.

So yeah, I’m reading romance novels. I still throw in a Stephen King or a Dean Koontz now and then, and I’m still going back to my adventure, Indiana Jones-type novels, but I keep buying romance novels and for heavens sake, I enjoy ‘em.

SIGH

Oh yeah, what else is wrong with me?

I’m writing fan fiction with kids in it. I don’t write kid stories… well, unless they’re evil little scuts that meet death on a mini-bike.

My latest story is a totally cute little thing, with a little kid (do you know how difficult it is to write a convincing little kid when you have none of the little blighters yourself?) and Snape is…. okay, I won’t call him cute, because he just isn’t, but still, he tucks Harry in and tells him he loves him. ACK!

I also can’t watch horror movies anymore. A Hammer film is all right, but Saw 2000, no. I don’t want to see ghouls, or zombies, or things jumping out on a big screen, I don’t want to see flesh torn up and buckets of blood poured everywhere… ICK.

I like those intellectual type films. Or the cool escapist type like Taken.

ANOTHER SIGH

Let’s jump, shall we?

I Have Been Here Before

I am seeking a question.