fiction of a teenaged fan
genre: poetic non-fiction reflection
warnings: poetry, freakish obsession, non-fiction prose
a/n: this is a final draft poem based in my journey of discovering, reading, obsessing, living, and writing fan fiction through my some 22 years.
taglist: any and everyone
I look up at the flatscreen sitting on top of the warped grayish wooden dry sink that my mother has had since the dawn of time. Closing my eyes, the ROUS (rodents of unusual size) come onto the wide glass tv screen. I can't help but yell to turn it off! Reaching for the remote to shut off the nightmare inducing creature on the screen before me. My tiny 10 year old finger hovers over the Dish Directv red off button, when Westly dives head first into a wrestling match with the ROUS. The rodent gnaws on this sculpted shoulder. Fake blood soaks into his jet black cotton blouse that is in the process of being ripped to shreds.Â
I watch in horror, fearing for the life of the young man. I look at the heroine, Buttercup, and wonder if she is feeling in a similar way as myself. She has a similar look to myself, I think, but I am clearly more upset. Iâve moved to my feet somehow, standing directly in front of the television screen, when Westly death rolls the rodent towards the randomly spitting fire pits and sets the beast on fire. He stumbles towards his love, grabbing his sword and stabs the ROUS until there is nothing but the wails of the large rat dying. I watch in awe for the rest of the hour and something long movie.Â
That night I went to bed and dreamt myself in Buttercupâs position. The most beautiful woman in the world as the book starts. Meeting a farm hand who would later become my Dread Pirate Roberts, and we would ride off into the horizon on white horses. That was the first time I wished to be a part of the story. Yearning to have a man fight a disgusting large rat for me during a time of elementary school relationships and crushes became the talk of the 5th grade class. For the next two years I would spend my days and nights, dreaming myself into various movie universes. I was Sandy to John Travolta, Ruth to Mary Stuart Mastersonâs Idgie. It wouldnât be until I actually digested my first book, The Maze Runner by James Dashner, that I would learn about fan-fiction.Â
It was Kennedy that introduced Emma and myself to fan-fiction. She told us that it was easier to read yourself in the story than to imagine it. Having since just read, and I mean actually read, my first book in the aforementioned series. I fell in love with the Character named Newt. This character was described as having a limp and a British accent; this would be the introduction of my obsession with accents which my rather British boyfriend should thank profusely. I read a self-insert fan-ficton where y/n is one of only two girls in a maze with around 100 boys of varying ages. She falls in love with Newt and helps to heal him from the loneliness of living in this Maze with no memory of who you are. I read story after story all with this similar or same plot. When I ran out of stories for a character I sought out attempting to write my own.Â
As someone who had an immense hatred for reading and writing, I found this a fun challenge for myself. The earliest fan-ficiton that I have a strong memory of writing is one for the book turned tv series The 100. I had no idea how to take a story that already existed and create my own spin on it. So I sat there watching 5 minutes of an episode, and writing that down from y/nâs pov. I was only able to write three chapters like that, before I got bored. Itâs still on Wattpad, but I wonât subject you to that mess. As I wrote more over the years, switching from movies and tv shows, to books, to korean pop music. I have grown in both my technical skills, and my confidence. I grew a following of my kpop fan-fictions who loved my writing and the storylines I created with their favorite members. I wrote one while at work one morning and by the time I woke up the next morning, I had 500 likes. I felt like a real writer.Â
That was back in 2022, when I changed my major to creative writing from social work, to follow my new dream of becoming an author one day. Now as a 22 year old college graduate, who is going to England for a masters program in publishing and creative writing, I am on my way to completing that silly dream. I often think back to that little girl who yearned to live in the movies she watched all those nights alone. Then to the teenage girl who wrote about being loved when no guy ever looked her way. I picture the three versions of myself in a room and look at them with teary eyes as they smile proudly at who they have become. I still yearn to live in make believe worlds. The real world I am forced to live in scares me more than any post-apocalyptic world or fire swamp in a fantastical one. This one becomes too much for me often. The anxieties of standing on the edge of countless possible futures is all too much. So I run to fight dragons, defeat wizards, and ride off into the sunset with my knight in shining armor. In these worlds I know I will have a happy ending, and no matter how much I might try, I know that wonât always be the reality in the real world.Â
