I started writing when I was in high school, and it was, quite frankly, dreadful. I love language, I love reading, but one doesn’t just decide to be a writer and Bob’s your uncle, you’re a writer.
Cue being an adult for a good long while, and then, being something of a gamer, I played a game with the sort of plot holes that make one whimper. I was surfing online, looking for information, and came across fan fiction about my game, on the community forums. I devoured it. I did. It was a feast for my eyes, and I fell madly in love with the idea of fan fiction as a way to fix the things that niggled about the games I loved. So one day, at the pool, while my kids frolicked, I opened a spiralbound notebook and wrote.
And it was, quite frankly, dreadful. Seriously. But some kind souls encouraged me, and I wrote more, and more, and one day, it wasn’t quite so dreadful.
Then I took on another challenge. I didn’t think I was capable of sustaining a novel-length work, but fan fiction gave me the supports I needed to try it. I had a world, and characters, and I could add in my own characters, fill in the bits the games don’t tell you, and suddenly, I was writing chapter after chapter.
I loved it. But there was more. Someone referred me to AFF, to read a deeper version of a story I liked elsewhere, and oh, my sweet gods, I was home. Not just for the sex, but for the adult approach to everything. Writers here weren’t afraid to see the dark side of things. Not everything had a happy ending.
Writing fan fiction gave me the skills, and the courage to try my hand at original fiction, and I will never be ashamed of writing fan fiction. I still do. I won’t stop, (Sorry, pip, you’re stuck with me! )