All of my life I’ve known at least one thing.
I wanted to be a writer.
I wanted to create stories, characters, villains, and worlds. I was making things up all the time once I passed the age of playing “make-believe” and into the realm of “young adult”. I wrote short stories in the back of notebooks, on the family computer, or in the corners of class notes. Characters would go to class with me. Stories would weave themselves as I laid down to sleep or in the shower.
Story means a lot to me.
I appreciate stories other than my own, too. I adore Howl’s Moving Castle and the Night Circus. Anything by Charles De Lint sends me into an a week of floating happiness. Kim Harrison and Laurell K Hamilton make me feel strong. But, not once did I ever consider taking on their characters or their worlds with my own words.
That doesn’t feel right to me. Once another person takes on a story it changes. It is no longer the original thing, but something similar with the same name slapped onto it. It’s like ordering the same thing at different restaurants. You’re not always guaranteed to get the same dish, honestly. Curry can mean a great many different flavors.
I prefer to leave the worlds of other authors alone. They are revered in that way, a piece of art that I don’t dare touch. I much prefer to play god with my own characters. I know them much better, inside and out. There is no set of rules or boundaries that I need to prescribe to in order to create my own story.
Which is how we create new stories that we fall in love with, new worlds we want to fall into. So don’t ever expect me to write fanfic. There’s just so much more in me.