- J.K. Rowling (on 50 Shades of Grey)
I love these guys.
I can’t even understand how an author wouldn’t understand the urge to write fanfic, create fanart. How do you even want to be an author without seeing characters and stories you like and wanting to create your own? Fanfiction is just a matter of degree.
Have you never imagined yourself into a favorite world? Have you never imagined yourself meeting a favorite character? If you have, you’ve committed fanfiction in your head. Didn’t you used to play pretend? What is the difference between thinking it and telling it to a friend? Between telling it to a friend and writing it down?
If you’re an author and you are against fanfiction, you are lying to yourself about why you even started writing fiction in the first place. None of us did this alone, all of us stand on the shoulders of giants. And sometimes we write fic about those giants.
So much love for these people!
‘Fat’ is usually the first insult a girl throws at another girl when she wants to hurt her.
I mean, is ‘fat’ really the worst thing a human being can be? Is ‘fat’ worse than ‘vindictive’, ‘jealous’, ‘shallow’, ‘vain’, ‘boring’ or ‘cruel’? Not to me; but then, you might retort, what do I know about the pressure to be skinny? I’m not in the business of being judged on my looks, what with being a writer and earning my living by using my brain…
I went to the British Book Awards that evening. After the award ceremony I bumped into a woman I hadn’t seen for nearly three years. The first thing she said to me? ‘You’ve lost a lot of weight since the last time I saw you!’
‘Well,’ I said, slightly nonplussed, ‘the last time you saw me I’d just had a baby.’
What I felt like saying was, ‘I’ve produced my third child and my sixth novel since I last saw you. Aren’t either of those things more important, more interesting, than my size?’ But no – my waist looked smaller! Forget the kid and the book: finally, something to celebrate!
I’ve got two daughters who will have to make their way in this skinny-obsessed world, and it worries me, because I don’t want them to be empty-headed, self-obsessed, emaciated clones; I’d rather they were independent, interesting, idealistic, kind, opinionated, original, funny – a thousand things, before ‘thin’. And frankly, I’d rather they didn’t give a gust of stinking chihuahua flatulence whether the woman standing next to them has fleshier knees than they do. Let my girls be Hermiones, rather than Pansy Parkinsons.