Well, I… hang on, were you banned for that? It seems relatively mild. Was it just a spammy advert for Star Trek: Conquest?
My natural inclination is to pooh-pooh fan fiction, because I’m basically a monstrous snob. My limited experience of the genre is that it’s nowhere near the quality of a poor-quality mid-1990s Star Trek tie-in novel… but “limited experience” and all that. Perhaps there is a motherlode of terrific writing out there. But I suspect that the authors never get any constructive criticism, so they never improve, and they’re locked into an abusive environment that never produces the conditions required for a nuclear explosion.
It’s like DeviantART or Flickr, you know? The artistes start off bad, and they’re never subjected to a toughening-up process, so they never get good. Some sites like that have popularity rankings, but the rankings only tend to breed slick poor-quality fan-fiction, or slick poor-quality fan art / folk photography. It’s still fundamentally turdy. Derivative turdiness. Trivia turds that rot into soil. If the internet is throwing up an endless stream of brilliance, why is Reddit just a lot of reposts? Hmm?
When I had my first ever job interview as a writer, the editor made it very clear that in the professional sphere you go from being one in a million to just one of a million. The organised fan fiction websites and boards strike me as being essentially an abusive, stunting environment where the people hope to be a big fish in a tiny pond; they’ve lost touch with the bigger picture. They need to take a step back and realise that for all their ranking systems and fake internet points, and the illusion of substance, the illusion of community, none of it is doing them any real substantial good. It is possible for thousands of people, millions of people to have a zero per cent strike, to produce literally nothing of worth, day after day, forever.
It’s like energy states in physics, you know? Rocks have enormous potential energy, but they don’t spontaneously blow up, no matter how long you look at them, no matter how many rocks there are, no matter how well-polished. Without refining specific isotopes and constructing a bomb - which takes a great expenditure of effort, and pain, and sometimes people die - they’re just rocks. As an artist you can either remain a rock for the rest of your life or you can turn yourself into a nuclear weapon, which is difficult.
Did E L James emerge from the organised fan fiction community? I was under the impression that she came out of nowhere.