Fan Fiction - I just don't get it

The release of the final Harry Potter film got me thinking about endings and how we deal with them. Endings are sad and most of the time we wish things could keep on going, but everything has to stop sometime.

I loved the Harry Potter books but I’d be worried if JK announced she really was going to write more. I could maybe get on board with a prequel but no sequels. I still haven’t gotten over the childhood disappointment of how The Animals of Farthing Wood books turned out. It’s hard to keep investing time and love into the less-interesting and less-original offspring of original characters.

I think with fiction, you have to go out on a high. No dragging it out, going over old plots lines, losing energy and heart until finally it fizzles to a halt. It’s great when something is popular and people like it, but that’s not a reason to keep re-hashing the same old rubbish. We need to be creative and come up with new ideas and projects. We need to use our imagination, not let ourselves become lazy. Down with the Hollywood remakes, with the pointless sequels (I say pointless here as not all sequels are bad).

All this got me thinking about fan fiction, which I’ve never really understood. I get that you can love a fictional world and the characters that inhabit it, but I don’t then get how you make the jump to fan fiction. To me it seems wrong, sacrilegious even. I remember in primary school my friend and I declaring we were going to be writers when we grew up. My friend then shocked me by announcing she was going to continue the What Katy Did series. Even then, something about this felt wrong. A simple google search however reveals that someone has written fan fiction about What Katy Did – maybe my friend fulfilled her childhood ambition after all?

As a kid, I was hoodwinked into buying a Famous Five book that hadn’t been written by Enid Blyton. The cover was particularly devious, as it had Enid Blyton’s famous signature on it but above it in tiny writing was the phrase ‘based on the original idea by.’ I realised when I started reading it that something wasn’t quite right. You can take someone else’s creation but capturing the original tone and voice is something much harder. In the end you’re left with only a shadow of what came before.

I never realised until I searched online just what a huge phenomenon fan fiction is. There’s the obvious ones - Harry Potter, Dr Who, Twilight, but there are also some really odd choices – Black Books, South Pacific, Sesame Street. Even real life people have it written about them – musicians, actors, politicians. Am I wrong in thinking that’s just a bit weird?

I understand when you’re growing up that writing teenage fantasies in your diary or in letters to your friends is a normal, healthy thing to do. But to me fan fiction goes beyond that. It feels wrong to read it, like you’re reading someone’s most personal and private confessions.

Maybe I’m being too critical, I certainly don’t want to diss anyone who takes part in fan fiction. I just don’t understand it. Is it a bit of fun? A form of writing which doesn’t hurt anyone. Is it gratification? The writer isn’t happy with the way things turned out in a fictional world so invents their own version.

Or is it something more sinister? A writer who can’t deal with the fact that the series has ended. An unhealthy obsession with a celebrity. A writer living out their own life through a fictional character?

If you love a book, just turn to the front and start again. Buy the film on DVD, put the album on repeat. It’s better to leave people wanting more, isn’t it?

Post-T in the Park musings

So, another T has been and gone and I’ve got those sad, melancholic post-T blues that always come with the return to reality. This year’s festival was slightly more eventful than normal with phone calls from the police at 3am and Sunday morning stop-offs at the CID compound, but there was the usual mix of great music and great company.

For a teenage music fan living in Kinross, having a music festival land on your doorstep was pretty unbelievable. Now a thirty-something music fan, I still love T in the Park.

I know it can sometimes be dismissed as a festival for drunk neds, but T in the Park is so much better than this and doesn’t deserve this tag. Regardless of whether they’ve spent their £180 to watch music, or to get drunk and hang about the funfair, everyone is there to have a good time and that’s what it should be about, right? The camaraderie at T is something special. Where else could you have a random conversation with a stranger in the queue for the toilets? Or a passionate, in depth music discussion with someone you’ve only just met.

For me T is all about the music and hanging out with friends and family. Discovering new bands, going to see bands you wouldn’t otherwise go and see, crushing your way to the front for a band you love and have already seen a hundred times before. Comparing with your friends who you’ve seen, who was great, who was shite, what crazy punters you’ve encountered, who’s seen the drunkest spectator, the least appropriately dressed, the person who seemed most out of it. Putting suncream on in the morning then wading through muddy quagmires at night.

What can be wrong about 85,000 people standing in a field, having a good time and singing along to their favourite songs? Nothing brings people closer together better than an anthemic singalong.

The Olympics ticket application process - a rant

I thought it was about time I had a proper rant on my blog, so here are my thoughts on the recent Olympics ticket application process.

As you may or may not know, my little sister is aiming to make the Olympics for the 400m hurdles. At this stage we still don’t know if she’s going to be there, although we are hoping for the best. Aside from achieving the time, she has to stay fit and injury free and in the top three for her event in GB.

Months and months ago, before the application process started, I emailed the ticketing people to ask them what the deal was for families of potential athletes. They said they’d let me know before the application process began, but something would be put in place for families. When they didn’t get back to me I contacted them again. I got the same answer and again nobody has been in touch.

Anyway, in the absence of an answer, I decided to apply for tickets for the 400m hurdles. A few things struck me when I was filling in the application.

• You could only pay with a visa card. I don’t have a visa credit card and I couldn’t afford to put everything on my debit card. Therefore I clicked the option ‘Don’t have a visa card.’ This took me to an option which allowed me to apply for a visa credit card. So, put yourself in even more debt than you already are, in order to pay for Olympics tickets.
• In one of the initial press statements, we were told that tickets would be affordable and for every event there would be a wide range of price options. The cheapest tickets available for the 400m hurdles days were £50, then it jumped steeply. This to me is not a price range which includes everyone.
• At the end of the application form, you were offered the chance to buy souvenirs. So, after potentially spending hundreds of pounds on tickets, they have the cheek to ask you to spend almost a tenner on a keyring!

As I have been unsuccessful in my application, you may just think this is sour grapes on my part. It’s really not. I would have had the same opinions even if I had managed to get my hands on some tickets. My main problem with the whole thing is the fact that it is clearly in favour of people with money. And for all Sebastian Coe etc want to go on about it being the only fair system, there must have been a better way.

I overheard one guy saying that he had applied for £11,000 worth of tickets and had got £9,000 worth. Then on the news, some guy said he had applied for £36,000 worth and had ended up with something like £12,000 worth of tickets. This is the man who really made me angry. When being interviewed he said ‘I don’t know why everyone just didn’t do what I did.’ As if we were all idiots who didn’t understand the process. Oh, yeah, of course, if I’d only applied for £36,000 worth, then I’d definitely have got some tickets. Thanks for pointing that out, you twat. Most people don’t have that sort of money, that’s why!

And how is it fair, that some people have ended up with £11,000 worth of tickets and some people have none. Could they not have managed it so that everyone got at least something? If you were lucky enough to be picked out of the ballot, then you should have gone straight to the back of the queue again, and left until everyone else got something before you were put back in?

My sister’s childhood athletic coach got nothing. This is someone who has dedicated his life to athletics, is president of an athletics club, is encouraging kids to take part in sport, is pretty much responsible for getting my sister to where she is today in athletics, yet won’t be going to watch the Olympics in his own country. How is this fair?

My sister’s event clashes with the men’s 100m final, which was one of the most popular and most expensive events. I paid 20 euros to watch my sister run at the European Athletics Championships in Barcelona, which also included the 100m final. I know that wasn’t the Olympics and it didn’t feature Mr Bolt, but only 20 euros to see a final which included Dwain Chambers and Christopher Le Maitre.

I just find the whole thing very, very sad. As usual it all comes down to money. I think the process has been a farce from start to finish and we have missed a great opportunity. With the state of the economy the way it is, with obesity levels rising and with all the other socioeconomic problems we are bombarded with on the news, why are we not using the Olympics to do something good. We should be encouraging people to watch it, to enjoy it, to become involved, not turning people off. The Olympics should include everyone.

Family Legends Part 2

I received an email from the Scottish Book trust recently which made me very happy. The Family Legend story I wrote about my granny in Dundee had been chosen for inclusion in the book!

Allan and I headed along to the launch night, which was held at the BBC Headquarters at Pacific Quay in Glasgow. A good choice of venue, even if we didn’t manage to see anyone famous or get to explore it much.

The evening started off with a few introductions and statistics, including the writer-affirming fact that over 700 people had submitted a story and, of those, 67 were picked for the book.

After that there were a few readings, including two published authors, a writer/comedian and one of the winners. Both of the two published authors had got into writing late in life and included Mae Stewart a writer from Dundee. She had originally self-published a book of stories about growing up in Dundee, but it had been so successful she’d been taken on by a publisher and now has two books available. I tried to speak to her during the event due to our Dundee connections, and the fact that I’d actually bought her books for my mum’s Christmas, but she was too popular and I didn’t get a chance. I did email her after the event and she said she’d been attracted to my story on the train home because she saw the word Dundee, so it felt good to be noticed!

The writer/comedian had a lot of good things to say about the book. She finished by reading out a story which she’d created using a line from the first paragraphs of everyone’s stories. It was really clever the way she’d merged the stories together and I enjoyed listening out for my line.

The last reader read out his poem, which had been used at the front of the book and had everyone laughing. What made it even more amazing was the fact that he told us he suffered from mental health problems and couldn’t even leave the house two years ago. He used writing as a way of trying to help with his problems. Throughout the course of the evening, I spoke to others who used writing as a means of therapy and it emphasised to me just how healing writing can be.

After the readings we were all presented with a free copy of the book and there was wine and pizza. We got our photos taken too. See if you can spot me (and my glassses glare!).

The Dundee appreciation society also continued as it seemed that there were a few Dundonian writers in the book. We all gravitated towards each other and ended up signing each other’s books. One lady had originally written a story which she’d deleted by mistake. She ended up writing another one about her son who has down syndrome. It turned out to be a flash of good fortune that she’d lost the first story, as it was the one about her son that got chosen. Her son was there looking very proud. It really was quite humbling.

It was a great event and I felt very privileged to be a part of it. Some of the writers were just starting out whereas others were more serious about their writing, but everyone was enthusiastic and appreciative of the stories included in the book.

The Lost Lamb

When I was a baby, my mum says that I reminded her of a lamb. I think she was possibly blinded by motherly love for her first born child, as I seem to have had the best animal allusion out of my siblings. My brother was a sparrow, my sisters a mole and a lizard.

I’ve always had a love of animals, and lambs are one of my favourites. I don’t think being compared to one as a baby has anything to do with this, but who knows? I especially love this time of the year because of all the lamb spotting I can do.

One of my earliest pieces of writing was about a lamb. I must have been about 7 or 8 when I wrote it, and I remember getting help with the 7^th line (it’s a bit back to front and was too advanced for me for come up with myself). 

I was clearly proud of myself as I seem to have then presented the poem as a gift to my granny and granddad. If I remember rightly, both sets of grandparents were the lucky recipients of my masterpiece.

This poem means a lot to me, not only because it’s the first thing I remember writing, but because it has survived all these years. It would have disappeared forever if it hadn’t been for my grandparents. They obviously cared enough about it to keep the scrap of paper I handed to them, until many years later when it ended up back with me. I think on a very simple level, this shows just how powerful the written word can be.

You can read The Lost Lamb. I’ve typed it out (complete with spelling mistake) and also posted a picture of the original work. It’s probably the only piece of poetry you will ever read by me, as I tend to focus on prose these days. I think my poetry peaked with The Lost Lamb!

The Lost Lamb                                                                    

In the meadow behind the tree

A little lamb scardly peeped

Faraway from his mother dear

In the meadow behind the hill

His mother dear looked worried ill

She looked and looked all through the wood

To see her child she thought she never would

At last she saw to her great joy

Peeping from behind the hill

A little face she recognised

She knew her child was with her still

In the Blink of An Eye

Recently I’ve started listening to Radio Scotland while I’m walking to work in the morning. It keeps me up to date with what’s going on in the world, and doesn’t have any radio adverts or chart trash to annoy me. I’m usually still a wee bit sleepy, and I like having the voices wash over me. I can tune in or tune out as I wish. Good music works in the same way, but I like the daily hit of news that I get from Radio Scotland.

The best days are when, hidden amongst the wars/failing economy/corrupt politicians, there’s a quirky or uplifting story. Something unusual that stands out.

Yesterday was a great example of this, with a report about Adam Bojelian. Adam is an eleven year old boy who writes poetry. He has won a Brit Writers’ Award and a Gold Blue Peter badge for his poems, which is amazing enough in itself. What makes it even more amazing though is the fact that Adam is blind and suffers from serious health problems.

He communicates by blinking and writes all his poems in this way. On his blog he says that it can take him days to write one line, and months to complete a full poem.

After listening to the report about him, I went online to look at his blog and read some of his poems. I was so impressed by them. They have a surreal, humorous edge to them, and reminded me a bit of Spike Milligan’s verse. He is very talented! I especially like his one about gibbons which you can read here.

He’s really inspired me, and made me feel quite humble. He faces a huge struggle everyday, but has managed to achieve so much and write so well. If I want to write, it’s easy. All I have to do is pick up a pen or turn on my laptop. It’s made me appreciate what I have all the more. Next time I’m lazing about on the sofa or looking up facebook when I should be writing, I’ll think of Adam and his poetry.