The writer in question maintained a noble quiet on the matter, except to let it be known that she was hurt. I was sorry she was so hurt. This was a writer that I had been nice to. When she was being attacked on the website of a scientific journal, attacked for her science-inspired writings, I was the first to jump to a defence of what she was doing; when she was depressed shortly after the publication of her book of short fiction, I took a moment from her life and turned it into a cheery piece of fiction just to brighten her day. So I did not ever intend to harm her. I did not think what I had done would.
I still do not think that what I did in taking from her story to tell mine, is wrong, though I am careful these days not to write in this way. I know this hurt writer finds inspiration herself in what others write, and finds ideas there and does not think anyone ever comes up with an unprompted idea, and discovers solutions to how to tell a story she is struggling with in the way another writer has told his story; indeed, she is a 'borrower'. But, still she is hurt, and still I am sorry for that hurt.
About fifteen months ago I sent the 'cheery piece I had written to brighten her day' to a charity publication along with two other pieces. I was fortunate enough to have all three accepted. Then someone wrote to the organisers and the publishers and complained that I was a plagiarist. A small behind-the-scenes discussion took place which threatened to have works withdrawn by three writers including myself. The organiser did not think I had done wrong, not from a cursory look at the matter. Then I was asked to choose one of my pieces and to have this be the only accepted piece for the publication. I chose the cheery piece I had written for the hurt writer; I thought this was a good choice, and that it would be a nice thing to do. Someone took further offence and threatened to write to the new publisher if my piece was accepted, and so in the end my piece was withdrawn with my consent and without fuss in order that the charity publication be a success. It was.
I am not a plagiarist. I am a writer. I am a good writer. I should not be prevented from writing or from being read. I should not be prevented from doing good with my writing. I think even this 'hurt writer' should accept this. She thinks I did wrong... but no law has been broken, and no one has been able to convincingly argue that someone's moral rights have been trampled on. Indeed, I am more and more convinced that no wrong has been committed here. But I have apologised, and I do work in a different way now, carfeful not to further hurt other writers.
6 comments:
This came in anonymously to my e-mail account:
Dear Doug
Your a good man but stoopidly bad judge of character. Read her frikkin blog for chrissake. She ain't quiet or noble. All her writer neuroses are shouted out there and there's no nobleness in her bitter jealousy of writers she sees becoming successful as she stands still. Its all there on her bloody blog. Wake up stoopid and do some diggin. She'll be behind the scenes working poisonously to undermine you... I know she is!
Firstly, if you know I am a good man, then you would also know that I am never 'Doug'! I am Douglas to my friends, or Mr B to my pupils, or just D to some e-mail correspondents... but never in my whole life 'Doug'.
Secondly, your own anonymity undermines what you say here and makes you seem a little poisonous yourself.
Thirdly, the only way you can 'know' is if you are a part of the inner circle.
Thanks for seeming to side with me, but I'd rather my 'friends' didn't call me 'stoopid'.
There's a huge difference between being inspired by others' work and blatantly stealing their ideas and using them for your own gain.
The fact that you still feel you did nothing wrong is quite staggering.
Dear Karen
Thanks for popping by. I have apologised to those who felt hurt; I have changed my ways; I have been punished (tried hung and quartered in public). That I do not admit to having done wrong is because I still do not accept that I have... my words are always my own, as are my characters and the stories I tell... when I borrowed (past tense) I borrowed a lot less than Shakespeare and no more than some of the main protagonists in this debacle who call me bad names. I have asked for a definition of what constitutes legitimate borrowing given that all writers take from their experience, the lives of others and their own reading, and no one has been able to say what is fair use and what is overstepping the mark. Maybe you can take the time to comment intelligently on that instead of just adding a voice to the debate... be more than staggered, show us an intelligent analysis.
Best
Douglas
Actually, Karen, I am serious in my challenge. I did not put my name to 300 words someone else had written. I wrote my story and all the words were my words... read the evidence out there. Then you tell me what exactly is allowed in such borrowings and what isn't allowed.
Read everything I have written on the matter (and there's tons of stuff on my blog) and tell me why we think Shakespeare a genius for his borrowings and think less of me for mine (my paltry borrowings).
I do not consider myself a thief. Why do you? Is it because you read it on HPRW or because you really have thought about this and analysed the situation and have come to YOUR OWN conclusions? Send me something intelligent on the matter and I will hang it up here, just as I hung your last comment.
I see, Karen, that having flung your bit of mud you have not added anything else to what you have said. There is no response from you to my challenge. I have, therefore, posted a separate blogpost re-issuing the challenge to you and widening it by challenging everyone or anyone to respond.
I genuinely would welcome anything you could add. Surely you do not simply want me to quit as a writer, but rather to reform - after all, EVERYONE says I am a gifted writer. I can do that, can reform, so mud-slinging aside, help me to understand where the acceptable line should be drawn when it comes to using ideas found other than in one's own head.
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