I’ve been a writer, or fancied myself one, since my handwriting made chicken scratch look like calligraphy. I was given a diary with pink pages, purple fairies on the cover, and a lime green padlock for my eighth or ninth birthday and I filled it in a matter of weeks. Mostly about how much I hated my younger sister and some of the drama that happens in primary school.
Ever since then, I have always kept a diary. I made a point to write in it at least once a day, sometimes twice. If I ran out of time one night, I quickly scratched down my thoughts, perched on the end of my bed, sitting in half pyjamas, half school uniform. This became incredibly important to me during those horrifying high school years when everything seemed more dramatic than it really was. But I had an out. If something didn’t go my way at school, or at home, I’d fictionalise it. I’d try to get inside the head of the person who had antagonised me and sort it out from there. Or even write an alternate ending to my reality. And once my pen was down and my diary was closed, I always felt better. Without fail.
But once Year twelve was over, I was on my own. No structure in my day-to-day life, no real routine. So there was nothing to rebel against; nothing to force me into my fantasy world. But every once in a while I was overcome by the urge to write. Not anything in particular; just the urge to have some kind of writing implement in my hand. (This mood once helped me write a short story with nothing but the colour grey and Anberlin’s “Alexithymia” to inspire me.) These urges became further and further apart until one day, earlier this year, the mood struck me and I was floored. You see, I study Creative and Professional Writing at QUT. So most of my assignments and exams revolve around creative writing. Finding myself wanting to write more was a shock to the system. Unfortunately, I was at work at the time happened so by the time I got home the mood had passed, helped along by the lingering smell of Subway on my clothes.
But the other day, I sat behind my laptop for the first time in years and spent the day writing. Six hours in total. I’d forgotten how quickly time passes when you’re in your imagination. It wasn’t for any assignment or competition – it was just for me. And guess what? It was that fan fiction I was talking about yesterday. So say what you will about fan fiction, but it inspired me to write again. I had forgotten the sheer joy of seeing your thoughts turning to words on the screen, or paper, in front of you. Now my head is literally teeming with ideas for this blog. I honestly had about five other ideas floating around before I decided on this one. And I haven’t had this in such a long time.
So because of this, I am going to be brave and put that story up on here. You can judge me if you want: but what I would prefer is solid, honest criticism. I tried my best to be true to the characters of Ugly Betty, but if anything seems unbelievable to you, then just let me know. And I will change it quick smart, because I take my characters seriously.
(I’ll put the story in a separate post because I know how difficult it is to sit at your computer and read for too long. So if you want to read it, just check out my next post.)
- (When) Is Fan-fiction Okay? (musingsofanaspiringscribbler.wordpress.com)
- Nearly didn’t blog today, but I’m an addict, I can’t help myself! (carriej56.wordpress.com)
- Inside the Wild and Addictive World of Celebrity Fan Fiction (entertainment.time.com)