"Anti-FanFiction" originally appeared in Tevun-Krus #27: FanFic Spectacular!
Author's Note from AngusEcrivain: Now, it's no big secret I'm not a FanFic fan. I do, however, recognise its worth. I guess this piece depicts a slightly exaggerated version of me coming to terms with the fact there is no point fighting such things.
The FanFic issue of TK itself, though, was fantastic, which is no different to any other issue. A decent-sized handful of fantastically talented writers coming together... *sniggers*... to produce something that time and time again is pretty damn amazing!
Note from MadMikeMarsbergen, who selected this story: What the fuck would an issue of Tevun-Krus be without Daddy TK himself? I knew I was going to pick one of the many stories woven by this dude, it was just a matter of which one. Given that he's got (last time I checked) nearly as many as myself, picking just one was bound to be a mission. You see, AngusEcrivain never disappoints. This story is no exception to that rule, and there's nothing I love more than taking the piss out of the very concept of "FanFiction" (except maybe taking a piss on FanFiction).
Anti-FanFiction
"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 ashtray 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 tries 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 firsthand, rather than via the lips of his much-beloved characters, was clearly too much for many people to take.
YOU ARE READING
Tevun-Krus #50
Science FictionThat's right. The big five-oh. The 50th issue of Tevun-Krus. No subtitle. No need for explanations. Dive on in and see what greatness is made of.
