I got an email from a reader earlier. The sender was a lovely young woman who had just re-read my first published fic and wanted to tell me how much she enjoyed it—how it made her feel, how it made her smile, how it made her cry, how it made her excited to get home each night and curl up in bed with it, how it helped ease the pain of a difficult patch in her life, and how much she misses it now that it’s over. It was a beautiful letter, and my reaction to it must have been visible enough to make my saner half take notice from across the room. He shot me a questioning look, and I turned the laptop around and gestured to the screen.
I followed his eyes as they scanned each line, saw his lips tip up in a smile that grew broader as he read, then braced myself for the good natured snark I’ve come to expect when my little literary hobby comes up in conversation.
“Wow.” He said. “That was kind of amazing. How does it feel to be someone’s favorite author?”
“Don’t be a dick,” I said, slapping him on the shoulder.
“I’m serious,” he replied, gesturing to the screen. "That’s what she said—right there: You’re my favorite author.”
“I think she means favorite fic author. Not real author.”
“Is there a difference?” He asked.
“Yes,” I said, rolling my eyes. ”Of course there is.”
“Why?”
“Because, as someone in this room who isn’t ME is fond of pointing out, self published gay mystery romance novels aren’t exactly eligible for the pulitzer.” I said, turning the computer back around.
“So what?” he shrugged, “Something you wrote inspired a stranger to sit down write what it meant to them and send it to you. A lot of total strangers, as a matter of fact. You write, people read it and react. That makes you an author.”
“Huh.” I said, very eloquently, then got up and went into the kitchen to start dinner.
Hours later, sitting down to reply to the letter in question I find myself writing this post instead. Because here’s the thing: That wonderfully crazy man who lives in my house is right. (But please don’t tell him I said that)
From the moment I realized that letters made up words and words made up sentences and sentences made up worlds that were mine to explore any time I wanted to I’ve been a reader. I have fallen in love with perfect phrases and epic stories and countless characters pressed between the pages of the thousands of books I’ve read in my life so far—and sitting down to string together those same 26 letters into tens of thousands of words of stories I felt needed telling? That makes me an author.
I have adored the work of countless authors in numerous genres, and the world of fan fic is no exception. I have admired and cherished and savored the words of talented writers whose work is no less legitimate for the fact that their names include random keyboard characters and their words don’t live on bound paper on a shelf.
It’s not JUST fan fic. It’s literature. It’s published. It’s read. It’s loved.
It matters.
Thanks to all of my favorite authors for every word on every page on every screen that I’ve ever loved.
Reblog for the sweet anon who asked me if I thought fanfic was as important as “real” fiction. Hope this answers your question. 🙂
Thanks for reading my work, so happy you’re enjoying In The Library!
Read this. Take it to heart. REMEMBER IT.
Comments are the best
They really are. Anything that manages to touch another person, make their life – their day, a particular minute – better is invaluable.
Perhaps most importantly, this is a family that loves the Fannibals so much that they could just eat you up.
Over the last three years, we have begun to blur, nakamas. We want nothing more than to properly thank you for your love, wit, and fanfic, so we’re going to make like Hannibal and take a stab at it.
Spoilers: We’ve tried to honor every part of you since day one.
From the very beginning, this has been the most rewarding professional and personal experience. You made a place for Hannibal in your world. For that, know that there will always be a place setting for you at our table. You made the experience incredibly hearty, and that’s not just because nothing here was vegetarian, nakamas. It was because of you that Hannibal won countless polls, including Hulu’s “Best in Show.” It was because of you that Mads got a taste of some of the best fanfic that the Internet has to offer. It was you that live tweeted with us for 13 hours straight to devour the first season. It was you that took our gorgeous show and created countless pieces of awe-inspiring fan art. (Yes, Senpai noticed.) See? See? You are the reason this fandom is so hearty. Just know that you’re not alone. We’re standing right beside you, and we owe you awe, too.
Together, all of this has been our design. There will always be room for you in our memory palaces. We thank you for making room for us in yours, too. It was an honor to dine with you each and every week. And, just to confirm, it was DEFINITELY that kind of party.
Until the teacup gathers itself back up again, bonsoir and bon appétit, beloved Fannibals.
Remember that reddit post that was going around several months ago about the dude who wanted an open relationship with his girlfriend because he wanted to date “hotter” women than his fat girlfriend but then when she agreed she was dating tons of hot guys and he couldn’t get a single woman to date him so he wanted to close the relationship because he thought it was unfair?
Sometimes I think about that and it gives me life.
literally went to buy a new sketchbook just because i wanted to do max doodles. there were some random colour pencils in my drawer they’re prob a hundred years old
phone camera quality because my scanner is so bad it actually looks worse scanned
Shadow In The Light 