Fifty Writers on Fifty Shades of Grey

by Lori Perkins

  I loved reading the story because James took a nonconformist approach to intertwining the BDSM and vanilla aspects that kept the BDSM elements from being too in-your-face. The sexual tension between the two characters made me so hot and bothered that it was sometimes difficult to contain myself, and I wasn’t the only one. Thousands of women all over the world were reading about the “Red Room of Pain,” using the phrase “Laters, baby,” and begging for more between James’ updates.

  Prior to reading Twi-fanfiction, I’d had very little experience with erotic romance. As a matter of fact, in college I’d fallen in love with, and studied, Victorian literature, captivated by works such as Villette, Frankenstein, Dracula, Heart of Darkness, and Jane Eyre. Victorian literature is nowhere near erotic in nature, instead focusing on virtue and goodness. Fifty Shades of Grey changed everything I knew about literature and myself—it increased my curiosity, not only in erotic romance as a genre, but also in BDSM as a lifestyle.

  In early 2010, I was asked to help in the development of an e-publishing house for the Australian-based company The Writer’s Coffee Shop. The Writer’s Coffee Shop began online as a site for worldwide discussions centered around books, authors, blogs, and more, and eventually evolved into TWCS Library, where people could post original works as well as fanfiction. I worked alongside the original founders of TWCS’ site to build a publishing house that catered to the needs of aspiring authors. I became a managing and acquisition editor and worked with erotic romance manuscripts more often than not.

  As an editor of erotic romance, I feel that the genre opens the doors of the imagination into worlds most readers have never traveled. An erotic romance manuscript should capture the excitement and naughtiness of a first love—the one you lost your “V card” to. It needs to combine sensuality and kink in ways that make the loneliest person feel. It should be romance, adventure, love, loss, suspense, and unbridled desire all rolled up into one story. James’ Fifty Shades did just that and in a manner that didn’t scare off first-time readers of the erotic romance genre.

  From the launch of TWCS Publishing House, we knew we wanted to acquire and publish the story that had set the Twilight fanfiction community afire, and we were thrilled when E. L. James chose to publish the series with us. Due to my background in editing and writing erotic romance with the publishing house, as well as my experience in the lifestyle, I was the only choice for editor of Fifty Shades of Grey. Many would have been nervous taking on such a task, but I was excited. I knew from the moment we signed James that this would be the chance of a lifetime.

  I was given a little over a month to edit and finalize the manuscript with James. Reading through it for the first time after the rewrites was a surreal experience. The structure and characters were the same as the original story that first caught my attention in 2009, but the changes in details made it feel like a first read. James had managed to take her Twilight-inspired story and turn it into a manuscript that was truly hers.

  It didn’t take long for word of the rewrite and potential release to spread worldwide. James had a huge following of readers prior to publishing Fifty Shades of Grey, and this helped in initial sales. It also made the task of editing the book and keeping it true to James’ intent very important. We knew James and her readers would not take kindly to an editor coming in and red-penning her story, and I was advised by TWCS to handle James and Fifty Shades with kid gloves. At times it was difficult for me to hold back my natural desire to make changes I thought were necessary; after all, I have been lovingly dubbed “Comma Bitch” by those I’ve edited. Looking back, I’m glad that I refrained from making drastic changes to the story and allowed the characters to speak for themselves, but agreeing to handle the manuscript and James delicately went against everything I stood for as an editor—and if I could do it over, I’d go with my gut instinct rather than sugarcoat the process for those involved.

  When I edit, I like to send “bundles” of edited chapters to the authors I’m working with—bundles being four or five chapters at a time. James would get a bundle and sort through it. Once she was done, we’d have a Skype session and go over the changes I’d made, suggested, or questions I had. Sometimes we agreed, sometimes we didn’t. In the end, she always had the final say-so. This was her baby—months upon months of her hard work. It was very important for her to be able to guide the process.

  We went through the manuscript twice together in this manner before our final Skype session. The last edits we went over together were those we got back from the publishing house pre-reader. We spent an entire Saturday, seven or eight hours, grinding through the manuscript. As a team, we agreed on some of the changes that were suggested while axing the ones we didn’t find relevant or necessary. It was a lengthy process, and by the time we were done, we both let out a huge sigh of relief.

  Working with E. L. James was not as daunting a task as one might think. She was no more particular about her work than any other author I’ve worked with. As a matter of fact, James’ quick wit, tenacity, humor, and the simplicity in her writing are all traits that contributed to the enjoyment and challenges of editing Fifty Shades. Our final thoughts, on that last day of edits, were about the potential backlash from some in the literary community due to the nature of the story and its original life in fanfiction form. It’s a chance we all knew we were taking—a chance I am so thankful James had the balls to take. The genre of erotic romance has been forever changed, as has the world of e-publishing.

  I like to think that I had a little something to do with it.

  TISH BEATY was part of the team that developed The Writer’s Coffee Shop Publishing House, where she worked closely with E. L. James and edited the New York Times bestselling novel Fifty Shades of Grey. She has a bachelor’s in psychology and minor in English literature. Tish has been writing since childhood and dabbles in erotic romance. She currently resides in southwest Missouri with her two energetic boys and husband, and can be found online at www.tishbeaty.com.

  MALA BHATTACHARJEE

  Throwing Shade

  How Fifty Shades of Grey Broke Fandom’s Rules

  D/S, BDSM, S&M … there are a lot of letters that come to mind when discussing the sexy doings of erotic fiction. Two that you may not know about? The capital “F” Fandom and the lowercase “f” fandom. Capital “F” Fandom is the all-encompassing term for the entire culture of primarily internet-based fan communities who participate in individual lowercase “f” fandoms. E. L. James was a celebrated member of Twilight fandom, whose success with Fifty Shades of Grey would eventually turn the floodlights on Fandom as a whole.

  Fandom, you see, is like Fight Club. The first rule of Fandom is that you don’t talk about Fandom. It’s a subculture, like any other, that operates largely under the radar of mainstream society. Sure, you may use Facebook, you might have a Tumblr or a Twitter account, but engaging in discussion and creation of fanworks with others is a whole different level of interaction. There’s a secret handshake, a subtle head nod, a sense of being a part of something that spans time zones and countries and languages. It requires a certain amount of mutual respect (and often some mutual disdain as well) and trust. It’s a trust that no one is going to laugh at you for liking My Little Pony. It’s a trust that someone else understands what it’s like to watch BBC’s Sherlock and think Benedict Cumberbatch is the hottest thing since sliced bread. It’s a trust that you can write whatever you want and someone, somewhere, will find it wonderful.

  When E. L. James altered her wildly popular Edward and Bella alternate universe fanfic “Master of the Universe” and published it with a new title and new character names, she broke one of Fandom’s oldest social contracts: Thou shalt not profit from thy fanfiction. A “rule” instituted long ago, primarily for legal purposes—studios and publishing houses were far more “cease and desist”–happy than they are now; it would’ve been a given that Stephenie Meyer’s people would take on Fifty Shades of Grey—it also serves the purpose of keeping fanwor
ks for the fans. “Going pro” with your fic means going public—and involving people outside the fan community. Once you involve a showrunner, actors, an author, or the media, it’s like someone standing over your shoulder as you organize your stamp collection—or your sex toy collection. You’re being judged for your geekery, for your “mommy porn” (heaven forbid!), and your autographed season two cast shot of La Femme Nikita. It changes the fannish experience.

  Why is that such a big deal? Because the fannish experience, for many, is a deeply personal one. For a lot of women, it’s a way to explore their creativity and their sexuality without facing scorn and censure. There’s a long-standing joke about the internet known as Rule No. 34: if it exists, there’s porn about it. There is nothing under the sun that hasn’t been written about and posted in fanfiction forums, on journaling sites like Live-Journal.com, or on large-scale fiction archives like FanFiction. Net. A lot of the so-called “porn” is written by women and consumed by women.

  Similar to the published romance and erotic fiction industry, fanfiction is a haven for self-expression, for exploration of kinks and tropes that you can’t necessarily talk about with your friends over a glass of wine. You don’t have to be ashamed if you like forced seduction or May/December romance or ménage—you’ll find a group or an archive or an anonymous meme that’s into the same thing. Because of the relative anonymity of internet handles and commenting systems and the ability to present yourself however you see fit, it is all done in a way that makes the writers and the readers feel safe. And there’s no money being traded in the process. It’s done for pure enjoyment, for the satisfaction of sharing a story and perhaps receiving a few comments in return.

  Sometimes, fans receive even more. The CW’s Supernatural acknowledged vocal portions of their fanbase in meta commentary–laced episodes featuring Becky the fangirl. The team behind MTV’s Teen Wolf was entreated to involve characters in a same-sex relationship. And while many authors, like Anne Rice, Diana Gabaldon, and George R.R. Martin are vocally anti-fanfiction, still others—E. L. James’ inspiration, Stephenie Meyer, among them—are openly supportive of fanworks. Fandom advocate and bestselling author Naomi Novik (the Temeraire series) even continues to write fanfiction.

  At the core, fanfiction and participation in Fandom is about a shared passion for the source material. So when E. L. James put a price tag on something that was previously free, it changed the very intent of her stories. “Master of the Universe,” something written for fellow Twilight fans, turned into something that needed—no, demanded—a wider audience. One that was willing to pay for what previously had been shared with a select community of readers. It doesn’t matter if you wrote under a name like Snowqueens Icedragon (James’ alias) or SamDean-Fan42: when you shed that persona and outgrow the audience who supported you when you wore it, a certain amount of hurt feelings ensue. It’s as though positive comments aren’t enough—as though tangible profit has become a bigger draw than the give-and-take of your favorite fandom. And that, to some, is yet another broken rule of the fannish Fight Club. (It should probably be noted that I’ve broken several just by writing this.)

  Mainstream media, in their lurid, almost viciously gleeful coverage of the Fifty Shades phenomenon, have tarred legions of female readers with a torrid brush. They’ve called out the women who hunch over their Kindles on the subway, laughed at the library hold lists that number in the hundreds, and offered a general sense of bewilderment at the idea that women might find something with adult content enjoyable to read. But for decades, even before the advent of the internet, Fandom was welcoming such women with open arms: bring us your tired, your poor, your kinky masses. Creating this constantly shifting and expanding home for the sexually curious is not a professional, paid endeavor but a philosophical one. Consequently, Fifty Shades of Grey’s success, and the ensuing media circus, has a lot of people who have lived in the virtual neighborhood for years shaking their canes and muttering, “Get off my lawn,” at those who come in wielding cameras and waving microphones.

  After all, women were successfully indulging in their fantasies online, and off, long before Christian Grey handed Ana Steele a contract and started monitoring what she ate. This isn’t new. Spanking, beating, toys … I can guarantee that everybody from Harry Potter to Buffy Summers to the members of ‘NSync have been chained up and flogged into next Tuesday because someone thought it might be hot … and because it was perfectly acceptable within the confines of Fandom to do so. Fanworks have never been “mommy porn.” Fandom is not a skit on Saturday Night Live or a set of buzzwords in every newspaper’s competition to boost their sales—and it’s certainly not over 20 million copies sold and counting.

  Fandom is like Fight Club. The first rule is that you don’t talk about it. But, rules and regulations be damned, Fifty Shades of Grey certainly started one hell of a conversation about women, reading, and sex.

  Longtime pop culture writer MALA BHATTACHARJEE is the former news editor of Soap Opera Weekly and current features editor at RT Book Reviews magazine. She also writes interracial and multicultural romance under the name Suleikha Snyder. Mala lives in New York, where she constantly refurbishes her soapbox and occasionally shares the results at her blog, www.badnecklace.com.

  ANNE JAMISON

  When Fifty Was Fic

  “IT’S NOT JANE AUSTEN.”

  My mother’s blanket critique of all books, excepting the six of which it isn’t true, applied with equal disapproval to Samuel Beckett and, I would imagine, to Fifty Shades of Grey, although my particular mommy is not likely to make it through the first page of that book. (As in, Mom, I’m in the Wall Street Journal. —how exciting, what for? Amateur BDSM erotica, what else? —is this about that book again?) My mother would apply her phrase equally to Twilight, which she’s also unlikely to read, although Stephenie Meyer claims a “classical inspiration” for each of the saga’s books and identifies the first volume with Pride and Prejudice. Presumably, Meyer has in mind the basic structure of “Boy meets girl. Boy hates girl. They are destined to be together,” and less, say, elements of style.

  I often teach Jane Austen. I also taught “Master of the Universe” (or MotU), the fanfiction version of Fifty Shades of Grey (names changed to protect the copyrighted), which was loosely based on Twilight, which was loosely based on Austen. I confess, however, that I teach Austen in courses labeled “literature” and taught Snowqueens Icedragon, now better known as E. L. James, in a course labeled “popular culture.” While Jane Austen would qualify as pop culture (now with more zombies!), Fifty Shades is unlikely to be designated as literature in the critical hive mind anytime soon. E. L. James would probably agree. She may have name-checked Tess, but she knows it’s not what she’s writing.

  “It ain’t Kansas.”

  A phrase from a popular 1980s T-shirt, featuring “New York” with a picture of a gun. I sometimes fanfic it in my mind: “Twilight. It ain’t Austen,” with a picture of hands holding an apple (the original New York reference retained in a big apple, because that’s how fic evolves, a series of echoes). Or now, “Fifty Shades. It ain’t Twilight,” with the Twilight hands bound together by understated (grey) handcuffs, no sign of New York or its echoing apple. The original referent long gone, only the basic structure remains.

  Retelling known and loved stories is nothing new. Jane Austen’s ne’er-do-wells Mr. Wickham and Willoughby are recognizable reiterations of “The Rake,” a stock character in Restoration drama. Does that make it fic? What is the difference between revisiting or revising myth and the writing we refer to as fanfiction? Does the distinction rest on how closely the revised vision resembles its source, or on whether the source is in the public domain, not copyrightable? Or does it simply come down to a label and finances: if you can earn money from it, it’s no longer fanfiction—a commercial distinction that makes no claims about literary value (whatever that is)? Is a text simply fanfiction when it is labeled as such, this label, in turn, proclaiming amateur status?<
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  I taught Twilight fanfiction in a course that examined genre in both the traditional and popular sense of the word. In the more traditional literary critical sense, genre means simply a kind or category. If certain formal, stylistic, or thematic elements are common to a group of stories, these stories constitute a genre. In contemporary and popular usage, however, “genre” fiction refers only to certain genres, which are also understood as distinct from “literary” fiction, and as a term it is often used pejoratively. The course was dedicated to “genre” in this sense, as well: the Western, science fiction, detective fiction, and … Twific. We looked at all-human (no sparkly vampires), alternate universe, novel-length, Edward/Bella fanfiction as a standin for the romance genre, but also in order to pose questions about genre in both senses. Was this body of work simply another variation on an established category? Did it behave enough like a genre to be one in its own right? Or was it something else entirely?

  During the class, though, we kept returning to the same broader question: What makes fanfiction different from any fiction? I asked a group of contemporary novelists, all participants at a 2010 Comic-Con panel on retelling myth, what besides copyright separated the work they did from fanfiction. One jumped in faster than the others with an acerbic single-word answer: “quality”—and this wasn’t a New Yorker panel. This was Comic-Con.

  Such attitudes, even in geek culture, are remarkably entrenched. If genre fiction is something like literature’s ugly cousin (from literature’s point of view), and romance is sci-fi, fantasy, and detective fiction’s annoying girl cousin, a tagalong picked last for the team, then fanfiction has long been the ugly cousin’s stepfamily’s misshapen mixed-breed dog, the one everyone is too ashamed to let out in public but unable to quite put down or even neuter.