ANTI-FANFICTION

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"I don't know how many times I gotta' tell you but let's go for one more, eh? My characters are my fucking characters. They're not yours, they're not anyone else's. They're mine, mine fucking mine."

With wide eyes he shook his head in disbelief as the smouldering cigarette hung limply from his lips.

"Seriously, I worked fucking hard to create a cast of believable, likeable characters..." He paused that he might take one final draw upon the cigarette before stubbing it out in the ash-tray beside him. "...and I work even harder keeping them in line. Trust me, it's no exaggeration to say they've got fucking minds of their own. Thing is, their minds and my mind are the same fucking thing. I don't want any other fucker thinking they know what's going on inside my head well enough to know what the fuck my fucking characters are gonna' do in a given situation."

Still shaking his head he retrieved another cigarette from the packet resting upon the table beside him, knocked back the whiskey that was likewise within easy reach of his left hand, lit the cigarette and continued his tirade.

"My characters are real people, or at least they might as well be. They certainly are to me and let's be honest for a fucking minute that's all that fucking matters. I mean, how the fuck would you like it if some fucker took it upon themselves to write about you, or more specifically their own interpretation of you? You wouldn't fucking like it one bit, would you? So imagine, just for a fucking minute, how my characters - or any fucking writer's characters, for that fucking matter - must feel when some fucking scrote, some rank fucking amateur who don't got the stones nor brains to put themselves out there and create their own work of fucking art, takes them in their inexpert hands and ties to mold them into something they're fucking not."

For the first time in several minutes he glanced up to see a sea of shocked faces staring back at him. Some, he suspected, were somewhat aghast that he had the audacity to smoke in a public place, a conference centre where many young science fiction fans were attending the convention being held there but most, and he was under no illusions about this, were probably more concerned with his F-rated rant. There was certainly no shortage of shits, fucks, cunts, bastards, cocksuckers and motherfuckers - there was even a cock-juggling thundercunt - in his work, but witnessing his potty mouth first hand, rather than via the lips of his much-beloved characters, was clearly too much for many people to take.

Well, fuck 'em. Shit had gone too far to give two fucks about them now.

"So, what was the question again?"

"Erm..." A noise rather than a word, followed by a tiny cough, and the young girl who had asked the previous question, the one that had fuelled his recent rant, spoke. "Are you ever going to do another crossover between Half-Light and Tales From the Easter Quadrant?"

At least the lass'd had the sense to finish there rather than where she had done the first time, telling him about a novella she had read on some fucking fan fiction website focusing on some fucking fucked up relationship between Dan and Ecks, the main protagonists from each of the aforementioned stories.

Not that he had anything against that in principle. If Dan wanted to get it on with some dude from another of his created universes - they shared the inside of the same head, after all, so the occasional crossover was to be expected - then that was just fine by him. But if that was gonna' happen it was gonna' be on his watch.

If Dan was gonna' fuck some dude up the shitter and/or get his shitter fucked by some badass with a penchant for killing shit and fucking alien hookers then he was gonna' be present making sure his characters were not forced to do anything they did not want to do.

TK Special #1 - AngusEcrivain... Apparently He Writes Sci-Fi, Too!Where stories live. Discover now