Last semester, a student asked me how I felt about fan fiction. I suppose it counted as one of those “don’t ask the question if you don’t want the answer” situations.

For me, fan fiction can be a good way to keep your creative juices flowing. It can be a way for burgeoning writers to find a (hopefully) supportive community. It can be a way for fans who are passionate about a given book/film/show/etc. to join a creative conversation about the text in question. There is even a chance, however miniscule, that it can provide exposure, which in turn might lead to offers, an agent, a contract, etc.

But.

While writing (or, for that matter, reading) fan fiction can be a fun creative exercise, it should not be the primary vehicle for a serious writer’s creativity.

I don’t mean “serious” in any kind of elitist or dismissive way. I’m seriously invested in pop culture and believe that a good horror movie or graphic novel or sci-fi TV show can be just as valuable and engaging as the most serious literary fiction. “Serious writer,” though, suggests a person who envisions writing as an artistic pursuit and/or a career. And, unless you can score a spot in the writer’s room of your favorite TV show or land a solicitation to write the next sequel, what you can do with the text will always be limited.

One reason is, of course, the violation of trademarks and copyrights. You can write all the screenplays you want for the second season of FIREFLY or a sequel to ‘SALEM’S LOT, but unless you have written permission to use those characters, nobody’s going to option, buy, or publish your work.

Another reason is that artists in general take risks.

Writing for yourself and your friends as a fun exercise can be harmless enough and, as stated above, it can help keep your creative edge well-honed. But “writing for yourself and your friends” isn’t the same as creating original works to share with the world. Generally speaking, creating new worlds and characters is harder than imagining further adventures for something already established. When talking to some writers who really want to pursue their art but ONLY on websites and forums dedicated to fan fiction, I often find that they lack the confidence to try and create something from scratch. To these writers, it feels safer to work with a world that has already found some degree of success, whether in critical or popular realms.

One aspect of art that young writers need to understand: you can’t be afraid to fail. Most people fail at different points in their career. Not everything you create will be wildly popular and/or critically acclaimed.

That doesn’t mean your work is without merit. Tastes vary, and today’s successful novel might be forgotten tomorrow, while an obscure, ignored, and/or critically lambasted book from today might be lauded as great sometime in the future. Look at Herman Melville, who enjoyed some initial popularity, then drew the ire of critics and the indifference of audiences to the point that he died more or less broke and obscure. Now we study him as one of the great voices of the American nineteenth century. Or take the poets who were popular in that same century. They don’t get nearly as much attention now as two poets who were truly ahead of their time—Walt Whitman and Emily Dickinson.

What all that means is that “failure” and “success” are relative and subjective. You can measure success by your brave attempts to make your own art, or by whether you get published (regardless of sales/acclaim), or by sales, or by acclaim, or by how good it feels to take the stories burning inside you and put them on the page, whether or not they light a similar fire in anyone else. Or you might measure success by some other metric entirely.

The point is that only you can really know how successful your writing is TO YOU. To allow anyone else to determine how much your work means in your own heart is to give them power over your deepest self.

As a writer, you do the best you can in the time you have, and you put your work out there, and then you move on. It will live and breathe on its own.

What does this have to do with fan fiction? Again, when people sometimes ask me about fan fiction, I often get the feeling they want me to legitimize their choice, to tell them that writing fanfic and ONLY fanfic is a legitimate way of being recognized as a writer. That it’s okay to stay on that same forum, writing for the same people, about the same texts all your life.

If you’re doing it because it’s truly where you tap meaning and satisfaction in your work, fine. Neither I nor anyone else has the right to tell you what you’re doing is wrong. You will have to realize that the world of the arts and broader audiences almost certainly won’t seek your work out or disseminate it or pay you for it or throw accolades your way. But if you are willing to pay that price, then huzzah.

HOWEVER.

If you’re only staying on that forum out of fear—of success, of failure, of criticism, etc.—I would encourage you to reach. Go beyond what’s comfortable. Take risks. I am here to tell you from experience that good reviews and money and all that stuff feel good, and that mediocre or bad reviews, jerks @ing you on Twitter and IG, and so forth are survivable if you believe in yourself. Fear is one great nemesis of art. Don’t give in to it.

And, again, only you can define what “success” and “my art” mean to you.

When people ask about fanfic, it therefore doesn’t really matter. But if they still want my take, I tell them that it shouldn’t be your primary means of expression if you truly want to be a “serious writer,” which isn’t to say that writing fanfic is useless or worthy of my derision.

Bottom line: If you want to make expanding existing worlds your primary creative pursuit, you could try to break into the worlds of screenwriting or comics. You’ll have to know going in, though, that those fields are just as competitive as any other in the arts/entertainment world. If you can do it, that would “legitimize” your use of other people’s work.

Otherwise, I advise you to spend at least part of your time creating your own worlds. You never know what will happen.

That’s one man’s opinion, which you can take or leave as you like.