“THIS IS SO CUTE” the fanfic writer says excitedly, alone in her room, before starting to worry if her readers would think it cute as well.
Pages of Kenna
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also if anyone is interested
my goal this year is to try to write something every week. I’m pretty good with ideas - I need to work on this LBD zombie fic, and I need some more fic for my Miserablestuck crack crossover, but I might be asking for prompts every now and then
(and, idk, if you ever just get a random prompt idea, like ‘haha it would be funny if someone wrote a fic about this or that’, feel free to send it my way and I might write it when I have time. I’ve got some fandoms I’m comfortable writing about but I also want to branch out and try new fanfic so no restrictions well thats a lie i wont write anything sexual)
Fact of the night -
When I write something, I reread it over and over as I’m editing, and then I edit some some and reread again and find something else to edit, and I read it one last time when I’m happy with it and make it public.
And then I usually reread it one more time after its public and find one thing I would change if it wasn’t public yet but I don’t.
And then I don’t read it ever again because I’m super scared that if I go back weeks later I will discover that I wrote something horrible and terrible and I will hate myself for it.
If I Close My Eyes
Fandom: The Avengers
Characters: Clint Barton, Natasha Romanoff
Rated: G
Summary: “He blinks and there are more faces, faces of the recently departed; he recognizes them, has every feature memorized. Natasha told him not to, told him to leave the personnel files alone and focus on something else, but he had stood in that park and thought of every single one of those names as he watched the demi-gods leave, willing the burden to leave with them. It didn’t work.”
Late for FriendShip day four. This is a fic I wrote months ago, using Hawkeye/Black Widow BroTP because I always see them shipped romantically but I’ve only ever shipped them platonically. Also because I wanted to write an h/c cuddlefic for them.
FIC REC: Drops of Jupiter
Drops of Jupiter
Rating General
Pairing Dave Strider/Jade Harley
Tags Post-Sburb
Jade Harley dreams of planets that don’t exist whilst Dave Strider gets whiplash from trying to look after the girl who fell in love with the sun.
Sometimes I dip into the Dave Strider tag to look for cool gifsets or something, and all there is are cosplay photos and random text posts.
And sometimes I run into fanfic recs and I think ‘eh, I guess I could check it out’.
So worth it. This fic was amazing. Well-written introspective piece, added bonus of being written in the first person, and now my OTP feels are out of control please excuse me.
downtothelastbullet: tywinning asked you: 2012-08-09 03:37 As a...
tywinningasked you:As a professor, may I ask you what you think about fanfiction?
I think fanfiction is literature and literature, for the most part, is fanfiction, and that anyone that dismisses it simply on the grounds that it’s derivative knows fuck-all about literature and needs to get the hell off my lawn.
Most of the history of Western literature (and probably much of non-Western literature, but I can’t speak to that) is adapted or appropriated from something else. Homer wrote historyfic and Virgil wrote Homerfic and Dante wrote Virgilfic (where he makes himself a character and writes himself hanging out with Homer and Virgiland they’re like “OMG Danteyou’re so cool.” He was the original Gary Stu). Milton wrote Bible fanfic, and everyone and their mom spent the Middle Ages writing King Arthur fanfic. In the sixteenth century you and another dude could translate the same Petrarchan sonnet and somehow have it count as two separate poems, and no one gave a fuck. Shakespearedoesn’t have a single original plot—although much of it would be more rightly termed RPF—and then John Fletcher and Mary Cowden Clarke and Gloria Naylor and Jane Smiley and Stephen Sondheim wrote Shakespeare fanfic. Guys like Pope and Dryden took old narratives and rewrote them to make fun of people they didn’t like, because the eighteenth century was basically high school. And Spenser! Don’t even get me started on Spenser.
Here’s what fanfic authors/fans need to remember when anyone gives them shit:the idea that originality is somehow a good thing, an innately preferable thing, is a completely modern notion. Until about three hundred years ago, a good writer, by and large, was someone who could take a tried-and-true story and make it even more awesome. (If you want to sound fancy, the technical term isimitatio.) People were like,why would I wanna read something about some dude I’ve never heard of? There’s a new Sir Gawain story out, man! (As to when and how that changed, I tend to blame Daniel Defoe, or the Modernists, or reality television, depending on my mood.)
I also find fanfic fascinating because it takes all the barriers that keep people from professional authorship—barriers that have weakened over the centuries but are nevertheless still very real—and blows right past them. Producing literature, much less circulating it, was something that was well nigh impossible for the vast majority of people for most of human history. First you had to live in a culture where people thought it was acceptable for you to even want to be literate in the first place. And then you had to find someone who could teach you how to readandwrite (the two didn’t necessarily go together). And you needed sufficient leisure time to learn. And be able to afford books, or at least be friends with someone rich enough to own books who would lend them to you. Good writers are usually well-read and professional writing is a full-time job, so you needed a lot of books, and a lot of leisure time both for reading and writing. And then you had to be in a high enough social position that someone would take you seriously and want to read your work—to have access to circulation/publication in addition to education and leisure time. A very tiny percentage of the population fit those parameters (in England, which is the only place I can speak of with some authority, that meant from 500-1000 A.D.: monks; 1000-1500: aristocratic men and the very occasional aristocratic woman; 1500-1800: aristocratic men, some middle-class men, a few aristocratic women; 1800-on, some middle-class women as well).
What’s amazing is how many people who didn’t fit those parameters kept writing in spite of the constant message they got from society that no one cared about what they had to say, writing letters and diaries and stories and poems that often weren’t discovered until hundreds of years later. Humans have an urge to express themselves, to tell stories, and fanfic lets them. If you’ve got access to a computer and an hour or two to while away of an evening, you can create something that people will see and respond to instantly, with a built-in community of people who care about what you have to say.
I do write theoccasional fic; I wish I had the time and mental energy to write more. I’ll admit I don’t read a lot of fic these days because most of it is not—and Iknowhow snobbish this sounds—particularly well-written. That doesn’t mean it’s “not good”—there are a lot of reasons people read fic and not all of them have to do with wanting to read finely crafted prose. That’s why fic is awesome—it creates a place for all kinds of storytelling. But for me personally, now that my job entails reading about 1500 pages of undergraduate writing per year, when I have time to read for enjoyment I want it to be by someone who really knows what they’re doing. There’s tons of high-quality fic, of course, but I no longer have the time and patience to go searching for it that I had ten years ago.
But whether I’m reading it or not, I love that fanfiction exists. Because without people doing what fanfiction writers do, literature wouldn’t exist. (And then I’d be out of a job and, frankly, I don’t know how to do anything else.)
(Source: onlyalittlelion)
Trying to write fanfic and argh no wat I’m giving myself feels I want to curl in a ball and watch Disney movies now and pretend everything is always happy all the time but I also want to finish this fic and it’s giving me feels.
This is sort of a strange question, but for those drabbles I wrote all this last month: should I post them all separately on AO3? I posted all the drabbles on AO3 as chapters for one fic, to save space, but there are a handful I especially like, and would like people to be able to read without feeling daunted by the entire multi-chapter post.
I’d written a couple of non-assigned fanfics during my 30 Day Drabble Challenge, so I finally put those up on my AO3 page the other day
and holy shoot that cracky Clint Barton/Hawk Nest fic I wrote already has 26 kudos!? What is this?! I mean sure, I liked that little drabble too, it was fun, but it’s not even 500 words and it has more kudos than anything else I’ve written, after being on AO3 for two days!
Drabble-a-Day: Future
Fandom: Sherlock
Two days before the fall, John hastily signed his name onto a clipboard while trying to tell off his flatmate. It was a fruitless endeavor but he was going to try all the same. Two days after the fall, Sherlock watched from the shadows as John confessed to their landlady that he wasn’t, actually, all that mad.
A week after the fall, John took Mrs. Hudson out to lunch, and paid that month’s rent on the flat he was no longer using. Sherlock was still hiding out at Molly’s place, so he only discovered this because she’d happened to run into John on her lunch break, as he was on his way back to Harry’s.
“He’s sort of broken,” she mumbled that night over the stove, cooking her dinner. She was trying to learn to cook for two now, but Sherlock still rarely ever seemed to eat. He ignored her comment and continued scanning the computer screen, writing up a list of things he needed to make his diguises.
Drabble-a-Day: Simple
Fandom: The Avengers
Clint and Natasha stumbled, broken, into their getaway transport jet, and Agent Coulson’s silence was just as intimidating as the reprimand that promised to follow. There were at least a half dozen broken ribs between the pair; Clint could tell by the way his partner limped that her leg had been broken, and Natasha was fairly certain the bullet grazing his arm had only barely missed a major artery. There was enough blood to top it off, not all of it their own.
“I’m taking full responsibility for this one,” Clint said before Natasha could blame it on him anyways. He collapsed, exhausted, into one of the seats of the jet, and sitting there was just as painful as trying to walk had been.
“Of course you are,” Natasha almost hissed, sitting opposite. “I had things covered on the ground and you had to spook them by using that stupid trick arrowhead. You shouldn’t be allowed to bring those on a mission if you’re just going to mess around.” The archer gave a self-satisfied grin, and regretted it as soon as he saw the look Coulson gave them.
He chewed the assassins out during the entire flight back to the helicarrier, which seemed to take forever. Natasha said nothing, handing the jump drive with the intel over at the right moment and using the rest of her time to try to bandage herself up. Another catsuit was ruined, though thankfully most of the tears had been grazes, with no direct bullet holes.
Clint tried to defend himself, saying “de guh ha a guh” through a mouthful of gauze, but their handler wasn’t buying it. He sent the pair to the infirmary as soon as they landed, warning them that they had a debriefing the next morning and that they were almost definitely going on suspension.
“Great going, hotshot,” Natasha said, punching Clint in the shoulder as soon as Coulson was out of earshot. They both winced from the hit.
“What?” Clint protested. “That was a simple mission, easy peasy, we got the intel and we didn’t even have to drop anyone. You didn’t even crack you skull on this one.”
“If you’re going to piss Coulson off, wait until it’s bad enough so we can get a full month leave. With this we’re lucky if we get two weeks at best.”
“Probably not even that,” Clint said with a frown, “with the way Stark’s been acting”
“Think it through next time.”
Drabble-a-Day: Promise
Fandom: Doctor Who
Hannah felt like hitting him, but instead she hugged him. The Doctor hugged her back with what she assumed was his satisfied grin, and Hannah wanted to point out that he’d almost gotten her killed, but she bit her tongue; the death of his friends was probably a sore subject.
“I see you took care of things,” Hannah said as she pulled away, trying to keep her voice steady.
“No more Terileptils,” the Doctor said with another grin, “or at least not around here anymore. And I managed to get you and everyone else out safely, just as promised.” He gestured to the crowd of assorted alien lifeforms newly freed from their extraterrestrial holding cells.
“I don’t know if that can exactly be considered fulfilling the promise,” Hannah retorted, leading the way to the TARDIS nearby. She was surprised by how shaken up she still felt.
“What do you mean?” the Doctor asked, falling in step.
“I got vaporized,” Hannah said, “and transported to an alien planet, and I led a multi-species prisoner rebellion, before getting sent out to this stupid rock to wait the death sentence. All while not knowing if I’d ever see Earth again.”
“Well yeah… but you’re still alive, right?”
Hannah rolled her eyes. “Yeah, sure, I’ll give you that one.”
“So it’s all good then, you see! Fun day, right? Lots of adventures! Where should we go next?”
“Home,” Hannah said with a sigh.
Drabble-a-Day: Letters
Fandom: Cabin Pressure
“Are you sure, Arthur?” Douglas asked from his seat in the flight deck, turned around so he could try to avoid the glare from the sun. The plane’s steward stood by the cabin door with an excited expression.
“Of course!” said Arthur, “It’ll be loads of fun! And by the time we finish the entire alphabet, we’ll probably be back home!”
“Let’s hope it doesn’t take that long,” Martin muttered from the control panel. The pilot was already bored, and exhausted from a fitful attempt at sleep in the cheap Hong Kong hotel.
Douglas ignored him. “Alright then - A”
“Ooh, like my name! Apple! Animal! Anaconda!”
“What?” Martin turned his head in surprise.
“A-apricot?”
“No,” Douglas shook his head, and held up two fingers, “Two syllables.”
“Action?”
“It’s the Greek letter,” Martin prompted.
“A-alpha?”
Martin looked slightly shocked, but Douglas grinned encouragingly. “Oh yes! Very good! That only took you six tries!”
“And two big clues,” Martin added. His remark was again ignored.
“Oh, I’m sure I could do better!” Arthur said. “Give me another one - but don’t go in order!”
“Alright - W” Douglas obliged.
“Hmm - Weasel! Windows? Wallpaper?”
“Where are you getting these words from?” Martin asked.
“Arthur, it’s a drink.”
“Wine?”
“Close,” Douglas nodded.
“W… whiskey?”
“Yes!” Douglas cheered.
“And look,” Martin said gloomily, “That one only took you five tries.”
“Ooh, so I am getting better! See, chaps, this is fun!”
Drabble-a-Day: Diamond
Fandom: Homestuck
Karkat forbid them from going to sleep, so instead they lay in the robo-pile in Equius’ room and talked about their feelings. Nepeta would have prefurred to roleplay with someone upstairs, to get her mind off everything that was happening, but how often did one get the ‘b100 b100d’ to talk about his feelings? Not very often.
They started talking about Aradia, a sore subject for Equius, but one Nepeta felt needed to be addressed. He was tight-lipped at first, but eventually opened up a bit, telling his moirail about the flushed feelings he didn’t admire himself for having. There was very little Nepeta hadn’t already guessed, but to hear Equius admit to it out loud made her grin. If she wasn’t otherwise occupied, she might consider updating her shipping wall.
When he got too embarrassed, Equius turned the conversation onto Nepeta. She was willing to confess that she had, in fact, been hiding some flushed feelings, but she wouldn’t say more because she knew Equius wouldn’t approve. She made a cat pun and he scowled, turning onto his back to stare at the ceiling. From that angle, Nepeta could see under his cracked shades, and he look serious and contemplative. She wondered if he had already guessed who her crush was, and decided to steer the conversation somewhere else.
She mentioned seeing Aradia on Derse, just before it was destroyed, then reflectively moved to touch her stomach, where she’d felt her dreamself stabbed. Equius moved to comfort her but stopped, not wanted to do more harm than good. He tucked his hands under his head, where they couldn’t do any damage, and offered some words instead. He didn’t think they were worth much, but she smiled sadly in response and thanked him for the thought.
Somehow, after lying there for over half an hour, the conversation had turned into a reflection of their time in Sgrub and the Incipisphere. Nepeta, still haunted by the things she had seen as Derse was destroyed, instinctively moved closer to her moirail, until her forehead was buried into the side of his ridiculous muscle shirt. They continued talking, her words more muffled now and Equius trying his best not to bring up anything that might make her more sad.
Curled into his side now, Nepeta asked Equius if there was anything else he felt he needed to get off his chest. He said there wasn’t, which she knew was a lie, and suggested they do some training, which they hadn’t had time for since before the game began. Nepeta grimaced as adorably as she could, though she knew no one would see it, and told him she was too tired for something like that, and would rather not.
She actually was pretty tired, but she really didn’t want to go to sleep. Karkat had forbidden it, reasonably enough, and besides, she was happy enough right here.
Drabble-a-Day: Winter
Fandom: Portal
And Chell thought the labs had been chilly.
Bright sunshine had been a blessing, for more than one reason. The cool breeze, the first natural air she could ever remember, was delicious. As the sun got closer to the far off horizon, Chell didn’t think much of it; she was too busy trying to drag the Weighted Companion Cube behind her and decide on a direction to head towards.
It was a few minutes after the sun set before Chell started to realize it was actually cold - and not cold in the same way the sterile stasis bay had been cold, or the same way the dead air in the rooms at the bottom of the facility had been cold. This was an active sort of cold, which Chell couldn’t remember ever experiencing. It wasn’t just there, it was biting.
She sat back to rest on the cube, and the chill from the surface seemed to seep through her jumpsuit into her skin. Untying the sleeves from her waist, Chell straightened out the top half of the suit and slipped her arms in, zipping it up her chest. It was constricting and uncomfortable, but provided just enough warmth to be worth it.
That didn’t last long. As the sky got darker and she could see more stars appearing, the air got colder and colder. It was almost as if the air itself was clinging to her, trying to draw out what heat it could. She kept walking, the light by the stars plenty enough to see by, especially when, as far as she could tell, there was still nothing around for miles.
By the time the moon rose, Chell had decided to try to sleep for the night. There were no grassy hills or piles of fresh leaves, just bare dirt and the remains of what must have been buildings. The moon seemed to be waning, though it was still almost full, and as she looked up at it, lying in the hollow she’d dug with her frozen fingers, Chell thought to herself that, as usual, whatever was up there didn’t seem to be helping much in her predicament.
About Pages of Kenna
Kenna's Tumblog
I am a 20 year old female attending junior college in a Southern Californian desert, where I've lived most of my life. I'm also a member of the LDS church, a Nerdfighter, a master of way-too-long tags, and a follower of more fandoms than I can possibly list, some of the more popular being:
Homestuck
Les Miserables
Community
Doctor Who
Cabin Pressure
Sherlock
Supernatural
The Avengers
You can also find me at:
Eff Yeah Hawkeye
Kenna Liveblogs
Dave Strider Quotes
The Purrsonal Blog of Dr John Watson Miserablestuck
Archive Of Our Own
Blogger
I am a 20 year old female attending junior college in a Southern Californian desert, where I've lived most of my life. I'm also a member of the LDS church, a Nerdfighter, a master of way-too-long tags, and a follower of more fandoms than I can possibly list, some of the more popular being:
You can also find me at:
Eff Yeah Hawkeye
Kenna Liveblogs
Dave Strider Quotes
The Purrsonal Blog of Dr John Watson Miserablestuck
Archive Of Our Own
Blogger
