Not so long ago, I warned that fan fiction was destroying America.
I’ve been silent on the subject since then because of the vitriol-filled emails I got from five different fanfic authors.
Five of them. That’s what, seventy or eighty percent of the people who write fanfic, right?
Clearly, I touched a nerve.
Their impassioned death threats and photos of the front of my house left me with both a lot to think about and an extreme reluctance to go outside, let alone touch on the subject again.
Their chief complaint, after the one about my continued existence in a living, non-tortured state, was that as someone who didn’t write fanfic, I wasn’t a special star and could therefore never know what I was talking about.
Au contraire! I have written fanfic. In fact, I can count on three fingers the number of fanfic works I’ve written:
Two Doctor Whos (one thirty years ago, one about ten years ago) and one Star Trek (about twenty-five years ago).
So I have not only fanfic writing experience, but the wisdom, when speaking of it, that comes with age.
I know, I know, you’re thinking, “Ian, you’ve written fanfic? Bullsh*t.”
I can sympathize with this assessment. If I didn’t know myself intimately (and believe me, I do), I would share that assessment.
Therefore, I offer proof.
The first Doctor Who fanfic is lost to history, so I cannot present it as evidence of my bona fides. And the second Doctor Who story was written for an audience of exactly two (myself and the Missus, who is the star of the tale), and is not meant to be shared.
Both stories are also so terrible that to read them threatens the very fabric of space-time, and as my hero, the Doctor, would never stand for that, they shall remain forever beyond your reach.
That leaves the Star Trek story. When I first hit upon the idea of using it as my rebuttal to the vile electronic hate-scrawls that filled my inbox after the first blog post, I despaired. For I believed it, too, to be lost forever.
I was dimly aware of a copy reproduced in my high school Science Fiction club newsletter, but remembering the name of and then tracking down the phone number and calling the president of the club seemed like far too much effort.
In addition, ever since the burning paper bags with copies of Star Trek: Voyager inside them started appearing on my porch, I’ve been less than enthused about the idea of interacting with the outside world.
You have no idea how difficult it is to remove melted plastic from concrete. Especially when you know what had been on that plastic.
Then I bought a used USB Zip drive (via mail order, of course), and started going through all the Zip disks I had stored in my garage.
It proved to be a treasure trove of old pictures, letters, school papers, and, yes, works of fiction by yours truly.
It is this recent development that now allows me to present to you, my discriminating readers, proof of two things:
1) That I have indeed partaken of the fan fiction fount, and can therefore trash talk it without consequence from the tiny but fanatic community that still perpetuates this literary crime against Humanity
2) Fanfic is, as I have always maintained, and as my story demonstrates beyond any doubt, a literary crime against Humanity
So I now present to you, mostly unedited (except for the Kirk/Spock/time-traveling Wesley Crusher threesome scene – propriety demanded I cut it), Star Trek: I Mourn For Adonis. I recommend donning Peril-Sensitive Sunglasses before reading any further.
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