WRITING LESSONS

By Sharon Ewing 

I don’t have an English degree and never took a journalism course, so I suspected writing my first novel might not be an easy task. But having endless books on the subject and a dedicated group of writers willing to critique my writings, I was ready to do battle. I figured, the more armor I could gather, the better my chances of winning this war of words. I believed, innocently enough, that I’d readily accomplish my goal. Grammar, punctuation and other structural elements were easy-peasy, having taught them over and over ad nauseum for the last several years. Now, I expected I’d master all the intricacies of plot, character development, tension, crafting dialogue and everything else needed to fashion an enjoyable narrative and planned on having my book ready in about a year. I set this goal shortly after retirement, nearly two years ago and true to my expectations, I’ve learned a great deal.

I’ve learned that the road to success is “paved with good intentions.” Mine, I discovered was also mired with innumerable procrastination habits. I indulged in my natural gift for organization to the limit. But setting up my desk, sharpening pencils, arranging my files alphabetically, and buying supplies, sooner or later had to end and putting words on the paper had to begin. I’ve learned that my cell phone is another great distraction, and I must put it out of reach, or I’ll find myself checking e-mails, texts and, oh yes, it’s my turn on “Words with Friends.” I love natural light, but discovered I can’t be facing the window or I’m soon lost in whatever is happening at the bird feeder or daydreaming because something outside triggered an errant thought.

I’ve given myself permission to clear a portion of my day for what I want to do – write without guilt. I’ve learned to put aside the thought of my house gathering dust or worry about the dirty dishes in the sink when I’m writing. (No one is coming during COVID-19 anyway.) I’ve learned it’s okay to tell my husband, “I’m writing when the door is closed, please don’t disturb,” and believe it won’t send me to neglectful spouse’s hell for eternity. On the flip side, I’ve also discovered how supporting other writers can be when presented with copy that is, no doubt, far below their standards, along with their willingness to offer suggestions and encouragement at the same time.

The naïve expectations and assumptions I began with have been disproved. I’ve called out my procrastinations and hopefully exorcised most of them. In short, while the bulk of the novel still resides in my head, and I haven’t come close to the time expectations I now understand were unreasonable to begin with. Yet the many lessons I’ve already picked up on this path allow me to forge ahead. I remain undaunted!

BAD FICTION

By Bonnie Stanard

American Book Review has posted online “Top Forty Bad Books.”  However, this is not a list. Rather, numerous college professors discuss what makes a book bad. They get beyond subjective opinions, at least in the sense that theirs are educated subjective opinions.

Does “badness” belong to the book, the reader, or the situation of reading? John Domini of Drake University asks, “Why isn’t bad in the eye of the beholder? Why should a reader go with anything other than their gut?” Readers should go with their gut, but when it comes to giving a book a reputation, one opinion’s not enough.

Terry Caesar wrote, “Can we conclude today that there are no more bad books, only bad readers? Such readers don’t know how to make even the worst books productive.” What? Blame the readers? I can’t buy that. It’s taken me a long time to overcome reader-inferiority. For most of my life, I’ve thought myself a bad (read that moronic) reader if I didn’t like critically acclaimed books.

Terry Caesar also says that Zora Neale Hurston’s Their Eyes Were Watching God, is wondrously bad: stylistically precious, lavishly sentimental, ludicrous of characterization, and incoherent of theme. However, he excuses these problems with “Whether from the point of view of feminism or African American culture, Their Eyes is a damn good book.” Huh? Did the word bad just collide with political correctness and end up on the trash pile?

Though our workshop critiques sometimes get into technicalities, good or bad writing isn’t found in sentence structure or word choice. So what does make a book bad? These are samples drawn from the college professors.

• Does not have inherent empathy.

• Does not take risks. Is not curious.

• Makes direct and obvious attempts to call forth an emotion.

• Romanticizes two-dimensional, cutout characters.

• Plot is obviously manipulated.

• Its “message” remains obscure.

• All story is all pointless. Emotions give the story meaning.

• Makes mistakes in its representation of the material world (realistic fiction).

You could write a book on each of these weaknesses, which apply to concepts. It’s not the details they’re talking about. These mistakes originate with an author’s approach, even with their way of thinking. According to Christine Granados, “The novel is a blueprint into a writer’s soul. When I read what I consider to be a bad book, I notice that it is usually written by an arrogant person.” She explains with examples from Cormac McCarthy’s All the Pretty Horses.

Even books by celebrated authors have ended up on bad-books lists. For instance, novels by Kerouac, Hemingway, Jane Austen, and Milan Kundera are on Nicole Raney’s list, “14 Books We Give You Permission Not to Read.” 

Looking at the sampling of American Book Review’s list of fatal flaws, I see criticisms that suggest character goals for myself as a person. I need to have more empathy, curiosity, and subtleness. I need to be unbiased, spontaneous and audacious, principled, unafraid of emotions, and accurate in perceptions. Does this mean that if I improve myself, my writing will be better? Now let me see. Where to start?

Below are samples of books the professors dared to list as bad books.

Women in Love by D.H. Lawrence - It’s like someone put a gun to Nietzsche’s head and made him write a Harlequin romance.

The Genius by Theodore Dreiser – Dreiser had a mind so crude any idea could violate it.

Pierre by Herman Melville - so extravagantly mannered as to be barely readable.

Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood - protagonists’ tribulations attributed to their alcoholism.

The Great Gatsby - manipulates conventions in order to be a “charming” book.

The Da Vinci Code by Dan Brown – formulaic knock-off of fascistic conspiracy theories.

INTERVIEW with an 8-YEAR-OLD MAGAZINE PUBLISHER

Over the summer, a couple months into quarantine, 8-year-old Rin Windshadow had a great idea: a magazine with art and stories inspired by nature. Though she and her friends couldn't get together due to the pandemic, the magazine provided a way for them to share ideas and get creative with one another from a distance. Here is what the founding editor has to say about the publication:

"We have a magazine. It is called My Little Quarantine Magazine. We write stories, and we draw pictures.

"It was started at Sesquicentennial Park. The first issue was about nature. My mom and I worked on it. She drew a mustache and a hat on herself.

"We sent it to some friends. They started to write and draw too. We put it together, edited it, and sent it out virtually. It was published every week until school started. Now it does not have a specific time--just when we want to publish it. There have been twelve issues.

"We publish any stories and any pictures--magic, nature, once a picture for a video game. It is cool because there are pictures and writing and photos. I love seeing the drawings my friends make.

+

"My favorite stories to write were the stories where I collaborated with my mom. My favorite one was called The Very Bad Witch & The Devil Pumpkin. It was about saving the night and day cycle in a village inhabited by pumpkins. My favorite thing to draw is anything."

Each issue features the work of 3-5 regular contributors and averages 15-20 pages.

For a sample of the work appearing in MLQM, please enjoy this excerpt from Windshadow's The Very Bad Witch & The Devil Pumpkin:

Once upon a time in the land of Pumpkin Town, the sun stopped shining. Without the sun, the population of pumpkins stopped growing.

Kyla got up and looked out her curtains, and saw darkness. She thought, "Oh no! I HAVE to do something!"

She went to her friend Devil Pumpkin to form a plan. Their plan was to go find a witch that could help them--the only witch in Pumpkin Town. She was greedy and sometimes mean, but she was very helpful with things like this.

They found her hut on the swamp at the edge of town. It sat up on stilts. Fog drifted all around. Kyla and Devil Pumpkin had to bounce from lily pad to lily pad to get to the hut. Kyla knocked on the door.

The witch answered. She was bald, with a hat. She had purple eyes, and smelly breath, and a green strap around the hat with a buckle. She wore a black robe and was holding a potion when she opened the door.

"Hunh. What do you want?" the witch snarled.

Devil Pumpkin, who knew the witch better than Kyla, said, "We need a potion to restore the night and day cycle."

The witch said, "First you must find the Soul Slime, and collect five droplets of slime. Bring them to me, and I will give you your potion. . ."

IS YOUR WRITING HUMANING?

By Bonnie Stanard

Yes, the word is humaning but it’s new and I may not know how to use it. Among end-of-the-year lists are those that document words making their first appearance. Humaning shows up on 2020 word lists.

It was coined by Mondelez International (think Oreo cookies, Ritz crackers), and it’s getting attention—called ad copy genius by some and tommyrot by others.

In a news release, Mondelez explains that humaning creates a unique approach with real human connections, and will uncover what unites us all. Could we say that is an objective we fiction writers are chasing after? Are our novels being upstaged by a company selling Oreo cookies?

More Mondelez: “We are no longer marketing to consumers, but creating connections with humans.” Mmmm. Quite an assertion for a company selling crackers. On the other hand, it makes sense if you’re selling a story.

Mark Ritson, in an article in Marketing Week calls it “the greatest marketing bullshit of all time,” and “its new approach/philosophy/word makes them look very foolish.” When it comes to crackers, I can see Ritson’s point.

Whatever the controversy, humaning has made its way into the urban dictionary with a definition of “to act in a way that can only be described as human.” So this separates those of us who don’t act like humans from those who do? Then what is the opposite of humaning? Animaling? Nooo. (After all, humans are animals.) So is it planting? Maybe non-humaning? Un-humaning? Please! Don’t accuse me of non-humaning!

Marketing companies use and abuse language to persuade us to buy things. The challenge to copywriters is to attract attention at any cost, well, at almost any cost. Most of us fiction writers use a stable of well-worn words everybody understands. But copywriters resort to flaming language. After all, a fire is noticeable. It’s no surprise that words they add are a blister breed of language.

Marketing language plumbs the depths of our materialistic longing while appealing to the shallowness of our introspection. Take the word masstige (mass + prestige), another new word from the marketing industry. It means targeting the masses with prestigious goods. For example, car companies, such as Mercedes-Benz, have used masstige to sell mid-luxury models.

How about listicle (list + article)? Copywriters discovered that lists and/or bullet points quicken interest in products. If you’re like me, your attention span is better suited to lists than paragraphs.

Or thumb-stopping? Meaning to stop surfers from scrolling. Used by Pinterest, Shutterstock, and Samsung. The idea is that these companies help create online material for mobile devices that is so dynamic surfers come to a standstill.

I didn’t know it, but cutting-edge is out and bleeding-edge is in. What next? Butchering-edge? Killing-edge?

Another new one is immersive experience. This reflects the growth of technology and the inroads it has made influencing our senses. For example, a fitness workout app that resembles a game and provides information about your body.

Two new expressions I find particularly annoying: 1) purpose-driven lifestyle brand, a term used by Blue Apron, Chipotle, Goop and Godiva to describe themselves. I don’t need a company brand to make my lifestyle purpose-driven, thank-you-very-much; and 2) core competency, which means the underlying strength of a company or a person. This suggests that some people do not have core competency, something I find demeaning.

You can catch up on the meanings of some fun words, such as awesomesauce, beardo, amirite, nothingburger, and puggle by checking out Juliana LaBianca’s 2020 word list. 

AT the CROSSROADS of COVID and WRITING

By Shaun McCoy

Perhaps the single most fabulous piece of advice, and simultaneously the worst advice, I’ve ever gotten about writing is that “a good short story exists at the crossroads between two other stories.”

What makes this advice so dang good is that it is absolutely a fabulous way to rescue that initial inspiration you get for a short story, but which just falls a step short. But, one has to admit, what makes this advice so friggin’ bad is just how vague it is.

With a little creative plotting, one can describe about ANY story, no matter how singular in focus, to be at the locus point between two narratives. So, this crossroads idea is like a Schrodinger’s cat. It’s both alive and dead, in a state of literary superposition, until one of us tries to use the dang thing. At that point, we end up with either a fabulously adorable kitten mewling with all the delight of a cutesy internet meme, or find ourselves in dire need of both a shovel and a good plot of land safely away from the prying eyes of whatever darling child owned that feline.

I couldn’t help but think of this crossroads advice as, during my recent Covid scare. I started scrolling through the symptoms. Some of them weren’t very story-worthy at all.

· Dry cough

· Diarrhea

· Fever

I mean, they’re certainly were story-worthy to me. I’m me. If I’m walking down a tunnel toward the light, I want to hear about it. But it wouldn’t really be a good story to you. In that way it is directly analogous to my last piece of failed writing. It’s my baby, so I love it. To you, though, it’s probably about as bland as watching snail race. (Okay, terrible analogy. That would be pretty riveting.)

But then this bad boy of a symptom came up.

· New confusion

Now that’s a story. It leaps out of you with all the exciting context of the now infamous warning label on curling irons: “don’t put in contact with eye.” Of course I shouldn’t put it on my eye, but the very existence of the label means that someone, at some point, did. Or at least, we think they did. Maybe they were murdering a hitchhiker, and that’s how they got their eye wound, and this whole curling iron thing was only the best excuse they could come up with during their police interrogation.

New confusion. What was the old confusion? When struck with this plague, how am I supposed to tell the old confusion from the new? How can the reader? Can the reader know before I do?

But fortunately this won’t ever be a story. The test came back negative. For me, there will only ever be the old confusion—caught right there, smack dab in the middle of the crossroads between covid and writing.

 

 

 

A GOOD PLACE to BE FROM

By Kasie Whitener

 

Hello, again, from my November madness. I’ve been NaNoWriMo-ing since the start of the month when I wrote this cheerful, optimistic blog about what a wonderful waste of time and effort this month will be. 

National Novel Writing Month or the bold attempt to write a full 50,000-word manuscript in 30 days is that delightful annual insanity that, like a military academy, is not a good place to be, but a good place to be from. 

“Follow me on this metaphor, will ya?” she asked, her voice muffled by the closed door. 

In the beginning, you’re thrilled at the possibilities. New characters! New settings! New drama and details! Hooray! 

As the novel swells and the crushing requirement of discipline is realized, you begin to doubt the merits of the idea. Not just the NaNo experience, but the novel itself. Is the premise strong enough to make it 50,000 words? Will people grow tired of my protagonist? Where is this plot even going? 

Toward the end, that period of systemically induced fatigue when you just want it to be over, when graduation is within view, but the pillowcases stained with tears and callused-over blisters hardly seem worth it, you bear down harder. 

“You’re the only one here,” she whispered. “You must help us escape.” 

Stephen King said to write the first draft behind closed doors and maybe that’s why I love NaNoWriMo. It’s the perfect excuse to lock myself in the asylum… er… institute. 

For over a year, I have struggled with writing my second novel, Before Pittsburgh, because I brought each scene as it was written to my writing group. Loving, supportive people though they are, the full novel was not envisioned let alone finished. Today, I’m ninety days from publication and Before Pittsburgh still feels broken and in need of serious repair. 

But the NaNo projects, all six of them, feel like five-dollar bills stuffed in the pockets of winter coats. They are all drafts and the beauty of a draft is that it can wait forever for its turn at revision. 

I love the frenzy of NaNo specifically because I know what I’m building doesn’t have to make any sense, or ever even see the light of day. My fingers fly over the keyboard crafting smallish scenes – 1200 to 2000 words at the time, meeting a daily word count goal and moving characters like strategic troop alignments. 

At the end of November, I’m a different kind of writer. One that perseveres. That that revels in creation but is scientific about revision. And revision comes later. Much later if my NaNo history is to be believed. 

In these last few days, when I’ve fallen so far behind in my wordcount as to need a serious effort (or a miracle) to complete the challenge, I know NaNoWriMo isn’t a great place to be, but it’s a great place to be from. Having generated, in that uncalculated frenzy, the first draft. Another winner. 

“And the fifth-in-line for revision,” she says, peeking out of her padded cell. “Queue ‘Taps’.”

  

GET BACK in the GAME: NaNoWriMo STARTS TODAY

By Kasie Whitener 

It’s that time of year again! November is National Novel Writing Month or NaNoWriMo for those of us in the know, and all over the country writers of every stripe are preparing to dedicate 30 days to generating 50,000 words. 

Of mostly unusable garbage. 

In repeated conversations on our radio show, Write On SC, Rex Hurst and I have discussed the merits and risks of NaNoWriMo. Specifically, that it’s a great habit-building exercise. Every year when November rolls around, I look forward to getting back to the habit of writing every day. But NaNo is such a frenzy and the goal of getting to 50,000 words is so difficult, that a lot of what I write will probably not be any good. 

I’ve completed five NaNoWriMo projects, getting to the 50k mark with four of them, and so far, none have become viable. 

I did take my original project, a vampire novel called “Seduction of an Innocent” – yeah, I know, terrible title – and use it as base stock to cook up Being Blue. This novel should have been my first one. I queried it, approached agents with it, even considered self-publishing it. But it’s still not ready. That was 2012. 

Last year, I tried my hand at romance. Listeners of the show know I binge read romance novels, sometimes as many as five per week, and yet that’s the only NaNo project I failed to finish in November. When I did finally stretch the pitiful work I’d done to its conclusion and gave it to a few beta readers in April, I swiftly tucked the 60,000-words-of-wishful-thinking into the proverbial drawer. Where it shall remain. I heard crickets from the betas which should tell you something about the merits of that work. 

In any case, I plan to try my hand at NaNo again this year and I’m excited (again!) at the prospect of playing the game. I’m a “pantser” in that I write by the seat of my pants beginning only with a general idea of where I want to end up. It’s usually a scene in my head, a concept, that I’ll chase all month, attacking it with a variety of word weapons. 

Instead of NaNo being a productive time for me, it’s more like an extended freewrite. An unscripted game in which I play, 2000-words at a time, scenes that are swirling around in my head. The dull scenes. The breakfast scenes. The ones that a writer needs to know but that never make it to the reader’s view. 

From those scenes, I’ll plan the novel. I’ll ask what I really want the book to be about. What story am I really trying to tell? I’ll decide what research I need and what books I should read to get me ready to really write that story. Then I’ll write it. 

NaNoWriMo is, for me, about two things: 1) getting back to practicing every day, and 2) establishing rules for the new literary project. Game on!

A SOLUTION TO WRITER’S BLOCK MIGHT BE FOUND IN THE POWER OF MUSIC

by El Ochiis

I had had a traumatic experience as a young college student, one that drastically impacted my writing life. For some time, I was unable to sit down at a typewriter or computer and write with the voraciousness that I had written throughout high school. Until, I discovered a piece of music that rekindled my creativity. I had always stood in veneration of: blues, opera, jazz, classical and blues rock. John Lee Hooker, Rosetta Thorpe and BB King helped me practice guitar licks; Vivaldi’s Four Seasons picked me up; Les McCain, Eddie Harris and Nina Simone infused a desire to travel - to Switzerland – just to see them on stage; Beethoven’s Concerto in D Major made me think; Pavarotti’s "Nessum Dorma" transported me to another galaxy.

 

That painful experience, which stifled my writing, was assuaged by Aretha Franklin’s gifted voice and astute piano virtuoso. Aretha sang a song called “Oh Mary Don’t You Weep.”  When Aretha’s song ended, I had written the beginnings of a powerful, short story, based on that horrific incident; this piece of prose won several awards and I started writing, again, with avidity – thanks to a woman who could play and belt out despondency, redemption and hope, faster than keys on a keyboard could make an impression.   

 

You see, artists borrow from each other:  Chuck Berry’s pianist, Johnnie Johnson, took some of his inspirational chords from Rachmaninoff. Few took Chuck literally when he “told Beethoven to roll over and tell Tchaikovsky the news” – he was hinting to his listeners about the origin of his and Johnnie’s chords – their way.

 

It’s also my opinion that Leo Tolstoy’s Anna Karenina (1873-1877) was influenced by Gustave Flaubert’s Madame Bovary (1857). For Tolstoy and Flaubert, the high arts of literature and music stood in a curious relationship to one another, at once securely comfortable and deeply uneasy – rather like a long-term marriage. I’ve spent my efforts trying to copy the storytelling style of both men. But, it was James Baldwin whose prose that I longed to emulate; Baldwin could turn a phrase like James Brown could sing lyrics whilst doing complicated splits. If you’ve ever played an instrument and sang at the same time, you’d know why James Brown had to be an extraterrestrial to be able to sing, and, to perform the way he did – no human could accomplish that.

 

This got me to thinking about prominent writers and what they had to say about the power of music. Susan Sontag stated: “Music is the best means we have of digesting time.” Igor Stravinsky once remarked (one that’s often misattributed to W.H. Auden). “Music is the sound wave of the soul.” Kurt Vonnegut wrote that music, above all else, “made being alive almost worthwhile” for him. Friedrich Nietzsche declared: “Without music life would be a mistake.”  Aldous Huxley wrote, “After silence that which comes nearest to expressing the inexpressible is music.” So, next time you find yourself stuck, feeling like you can’t write another word, sentence or paragraph, don’t stress, "just take those old records off the self and listen to them by yourself." Aretha can tell you a story about two sisters, named Mary and Martha – if you’re not moved with inspiration, check your pulse.

WHAT WORDS MEAN

By Shaun McCoy

 

We huddled around the table, shoulders hunched, our faces hovering over heaping plates of pad thai and panang curry. It wasn’t just any awkward silence we suffered through, it was the worst kind of awkward silence. It was the peculiar flavor of awkward silence that can only happen on a first date—and not the kind which is pregnant with tension and possibility, either. Oh no. This was the kind that follows the moment when you both kind of know that there’s not going to be a second date.

 

And this during the plague times, when even meeting had been a risk. Really, how had we gotten each other so wrong? 

 

Well, because we met online of course.

 

Text—which until this very day had been our only method of communication—just didn’t convey everything we needed it to. There are acres of context in a hello, a thousand tiny character details in the way a person smiles, a Wheel-of-Time-novel-sized-backstory hidden in whether a person’s tone rises or falls at the end of a statement. All these things and a billion more are accessible to us when we meet in person, or when we’re experiencing a scene in person, or when we’re listening to dialogue in person. 

 

The silence was loud, not because silence can really be loud, but because by some auditory trick, things that were normally quiet were yelling at us. The wood of chopsticks as they tap a plate, the quiet chewing, the sound of the air conditioner cutting off.

               

“The food’s good,” she said.

 

And it was. The panang curry was sweet with coconut milk and spicy with the touch of chili powder and the essence of the sliced green peppers which had been soaking in it. It was warm. The jasmine rice was nice and sticky. 

               

Our eyes met for a moment, both of us somehow communicating to the other that we knew this date should never have happened. There wasn’t much we could do, though, other than attempt to enjoy the company of a perfect stranger, a person we’ll never see again, as we ate.

 

“The spring rolls particularly,” I said.

 

She grunted a little because she agreed but couldn’t say so while she was chewing.

 

Interesting, isn’t it, that here we were, eating together because we weren’t better writers. Because we couldn’t convey to each other what we were like in text. And that’s the moral of the story, as if written by Aesop himself. It’s important to take the time to make sure your words convey all you mean them too. But don’t worry. Sometimes, when you mess up, there’s still Thai food.

 

BECOMING a FAN of FAN FICTION

By Kasie Whitener

I just delivered a “Fan Fictions Basics” class on Outschool wherein I told three tween girls to think about a specific who in a story they loved and then consider all the peripheral questions about that who.

For example, we meet the Wicked Witch of the West through Dorothy’s point of view in the Wizard of Oz and are never told 1) why she is wicked, or 2) why she is green. Enter Gregory Maguire’s book Wicked (and the Broadway musical it spawned) to address both the Witch’s backstory and her unique bathing ritual. Not to mention giving us her name, Elphaba Thropp.

Fan fiction is born of a reader’s experience with a writer’s missed opportunities. The reader says, “Yes, but…” and questions the writer about something. The writer, responds with disdain, “That’s not the point of the story.” Or, in George R.R. Martin’s case, simply sneers at the reader or the daring novice who dares to write in Martin’s world.

Fan fiction is that often maligned effort of novices to stay engaged in a writer’s world a little bit longer. In the class, my students said they thought the writer should be flattered that people wanted to stay engaged. I tend to agree. The questions Maguire had about the Witch are what led to his writing Wicked.

What is The Mandalorian but a Disney-studios-backed fan fiction? Rogue One, Solo, and The Clone Wars animated series are all Star Wars universe stories that grew out of fans’ love for the world George Lucas created. In Martin’s defense, fans can get a little silly. Fifty Shades of Grey started out with vampires because the author wanted more Twilight and decided to write the Bella-Edward sex scene we all deserved.

Tweens write fan fiction because they identify with the character, the situation, or the place and want more story. But authors sometimes finish with a character, situation, or place and move on. What’s a fan to do except try writing their own story in that writer’s world?

Platforms like Wattpad have developed communities of fan fiction writers wherein hungry readers can find satisfying re-tells, one-offs, and side-stories for their favorite worlds: Harry Potter, all the Marvel Comics, Keeper of the Lost Cities, and of course, Game of Thrones. Here fans connect with other fans and share complaints of unfinished storylines or underdeveloped characters. Here they reimagine what authors have put forward for consideration.

I am learning to love fan fiction in all its novice awkward tweeness. Though it’s been around for a long time (it’s where we get the phrase “Mary Sue”), it has largely been ignored or derided by the literary establishment. Real writers write new stories, we usually say. But there’s something just fun about jumping in, feet first, to the indulgence of fan fiction.  

You cannot make money on fan fiction, so why do it knowing you’ll never sell this? Because finding insatiable readers can be a payoff of its own.