A fannish milestone I could live without
ETA 11/5/2010 When this was posted it was under flock and I've disabled comments so that people who commented on it under the expectation of privacy will not be identified. The story in question was Heart of Darkness by pepper_ckua aka micah-loden, and this post is linked to Stop Plagiarism.
I appear to have been plagiarised. As I first when I started reading the story in question I thought that it was a case of homage and reference, and I would have been fine with that but as I went along it got really dodgy as a case of straight-out plagiarism. I think, I hope, that it may have been a subconscious thing, as I've had cordial relations with the person involved, but it's still really uncomfortable. Originally, I was just going to have a wee bitch and moan to the friendly flist, but as I've gone through doing comparisons, I think that I really need to approach this person. Hugs and kisses for moral support before I dive into the mess?
And to show that I'm not a paranoid nutter, some comparison passages with identifying markers redacted.
Exhibit 1: My story, 'Right Memory' written from the pov of Jim trying to remember something that happened on a case that went wrong.
Other Writer's version was posted about six months after Right Memory. Let's call OW's characters Alex and Bill. It begins from Alex's pov recalling a bad situation that he's not going to tell his friend Bill about. It follows along as a decently written story, and then we start getting into the flashbacks of the bad stuff.
My story:
he still spits out something about 'Mengele in a cheesy leather coat'. Maybe Corcoran gets the reference, maybe he doesn't, but he gets the tone. Blair gets a couple of kicks to his back that leave him arched in awkward, sweating pain
OW's version:
Maybe [the villain] got the reference, and maybe he didn’t, but he certainly got the tone. It made Bill the recipient of a couple more kicks to his back, ones that had made him arch in awkward, sweating pain.
My story:
His voice is terribly calm and even, telling Jim to breathe, just breathe, and Jim tries, he really tries, but should the walls be doing that?
OW's version
Bill's voice was terribly calm and even, telling Alex to breathe, just breathe, and Alex tried, God, he really tried, but should the sky be doing that? It shouldn't move by starlight, undulate like it was alive
My story:
Memory loss and blackout are common when the brain is left adrift on a sea of foreign chemicals.
OW's version:
Alex knew that memory loss and blackouts were common when the brain was left adrift on a sea of foreign chemicals.
My story:
There are words for what Jim feels in this instant, this never going to end, infinitely frustrating and scary instant that he doesn't know how to deal with. Disoriented. Manic. They're words, and words aren't anything Jim can use right now. His mouth is moving, his throat is vibrating and he doesn't have a clue what he's saying, or what Blair is saying. Blair has his hands out - entreating Jim to do something or not do something, but all that Jim knows is that he's all wrong. Everything is wrong, sight is wrong and shutting his eyes does nothing. His skin is crawling, crawling, because there's something in his clothes. Lice; he tried in the jungle, but when you only have one set of clothes, the lice come and make a home. That's why his skin itches, and he throws his things off, and then he shudders as a tidal wave of goose-bumps inundates his skin. He's cold, but he can't bear his clothes, can't bear this, can't bear anything, can't bear the fright in Blair's voice, can't...
OW's version:
Disoriented. Slippery. Manic. Everything was all wrong.
Alex heard words, and words weren’t anything Alex could use.
His mouth was moving, his throat was vibrating, and he didn’t have a clue what he had been saying, or what Bill was saying.
Bill had his hands out. He was entreating Alex to do something or not to do something, but all that Alex knew is that everything was twisting up, collapsing in on itself, and they were in danger of blinking out.
Alex's sight was wrong, and shutting his eyes did nothing.
His skin was crawling. There was something in his clothes, ants maybe. That's why his skin itched. Alex threw his things off, and then shuddered as a tidal wave of goose bumps washed across his skin.
He was cold, but he couldn’t bear to have his clothes, couldn’t bear this, couldn’t bear anything, and couldn’t bear the fright in Bill's voice.
My story:
'Long-haired pretty boy'. Was that Waters's voice, or Corcoran's voice? "Did those bastards throw sexual assault into the mix along with those little love-taps they gave you?" Jim's voice is ferocious, and Blair shrinks down, just for a second, before he smiles, and shakes his head.
OW's version:
“He’s a curly-haired, pretty, pretty man."
The voice cut into the dark of his bedroom. It almost made Alex turn on the light to make sure he was alone......
......Had they thrown sexual assault into the mix along with those little love-taps they given Bill?
My story:
Perhaps Jim sleeps for a while. Perhaps he zones. There's a voice, not the comforting one. Jim aches to attack, to rend with his hand and his teeth, but his limbs are shaking too much. Finally the voice is gone. The shivers recede. Jim sleeps again and wakes to the anchor of scent and comfort once more. He stretches out his hand. Stubble against his palm, the weave of a thin t-shirt, the rising and falling of a chest as someone - Blair, that's right, Blair - breathes in and out. Hand on the roughness of denim, shape of a hip - and the rhythm of the breathing hitches into irregularity.
"Hey. Hey, buddy, that's maybe not a good idea. Come on, come on, Jim..." Blair shifts. "Ow." Wrong, wrong touch, but if Jim moves, if Jim does that - right, right touch. Blair whispers, "Don't, don't do this, Jim, oh, oh, bad idea, Sandburg. Oh, damn." Scent is good; the scents of filth and hurt are pushed aside, ignorable. Touch is good, touch given as well as received. The only noise that comes from Blair now is his breathing, and one low groan. Not a sound of pain.
OW's version:
here was stubble against his palm, the weave of a thin t-shirt, the rise and fall of someone's chest… Bill, that's right...it was Bill… He breathed in and out. Alex’s hand felt the roughness of denim, shape of a hip... the curve of… and the rhythm of the breathing had hitched into irregularity.
"Hey. Hey, buddy, that's maybe not a good idea. Come on, come on, Alex..."
“Ow."
Wrong, wrong touch, but when Alex moved, when Alex did that right…ahh… and grasped and stroked there, Bill had whispered, "Don't, don't do this, Alex ... Oh, damn."
It was what was going to save him, to keep him him from being cut loose and disappearing.
Touch was now nothing but good.
My story:
Blair pulls out the big guns - sarcasm becomes clearly the veneer over earnest pain. "I have gone over what happened with you about one hundred times, man, and I don't have any insights to offer. You were drugged and freaky, I was scared as hell, we both survived, even if that poor dumb bastard Murray didn't. And now, I would like to have the chance to do the manly thing and just not think about things, okay?"
"Are you saying that I'm not manly, Sandburg?" The tone is mockingly aghast, and Blair smiles at the concession. Jim is letting himself be diverted. Maybe he is being an ass-hole, but anxiety keeps gnawing at him. He ought to remember, damn it. He ought to, even if he doesn't know why.
"Totally letting down your macho side." Blair gets up from the chair by the table, and pats once, oddly tentative, at Jim's shoulder. "We're both okay and that's good. Let the bad guys beware, huh?" Then he's back at the table, pecking away at the laptop, squinting at the screen until he remembers his glasses; not looking at Jim at all.
OW's version:
“Listen.” Bill got up from the chair and patted Alex’s shoulder, an oddly tentative gesture. “You were drugged and freaky, I was scared as hell, but we both survived, we got the job done, and we’re okay. And now, I would like to have the chance to do the manly thing and just not think about things, talk about them, okay? Give us that."
And there's more. The last section of OW's story follows the basic arrangement of mine fairly closely. It's not exactly the same but the situation is the same and the cherry-picking of certain phrases is the same.
Ack. I think, I think that this is a case of hero-worship gone wrong, but it really leaves a bad taste in my mouth. As I said, this is someone I've had cordial relations with before now, and I've enjoyed their writing, which I believe, in general, is their own writing. But this is a really unpleasant situation, and I've already let some trusted friends know who the writer in question is. If you do know who this person is, or figure it out, please do not name them in this post.
Aaarrgghhh!!!! ::head-desks repeatedly::
ETA A copy of the PM I sent the person in question
Hi [author who I'll never be able to read again without wondering if you nicked the best bits of your story from someone else]
I've just recently enjoyed a binge of reading [not TS] fanfic, and I read your story [title redacted].
There are a lot of similarities, right down to many turns of phrase, between [title redacted] and my own story, Right Memory, which was posted about four or five months before [title redacted].
http://mab-browne.livejournal.com/149980.html#cutid1
The similarities are so marked that I think that either my story should be acknowledged in some sort of author's note, or else your story should be taken down. I'm happy to leave that to your discretion and preference, and I'm happy to keep this matter between ourselves at this time.
However, I have to admit that I feel very uncomfortable, and also very disappointed, that I have to bring this situation to your attention.
Mab
I appear to have been plagiarised. As I first when I started reading the story in question I thought that it was a case of homage and reference, and I would have been fine with that but as I went along it got really dodgy as a case of straight-out plagiarism. I think, I hope, that it may have been a subconscious thing, as I've had cordial relations with the person involved, but it's still really uncomfortable. Originally, I was just going to have a wee bitch and moan to the friendly flist, but as I've gone through doing comparisons, I think that I really need to approach this person. Hugs and kisses for moral support before I dive into the mess?
And to show that I'm not a paranoid nutter, some comparison passages with identifying markers redacted.
Exhibit 1: My story, 'Right Memory' written from the pov of Jim trying to remember something that happened on a case that went wrong.
Other Writer's version was posted about six months after Right Memory. Let's call OW's characters Alex and Bill. It begins from Alex's pov recalling a bad situation that he's not going to tell his friend Bill about. It follows along as a decently written story, and then we start getting into the flashbacks of the bad stuff.
My story:
he still spits out something about 'Mengele in a cheesy leather coat'. Maybe Corcoran gets the reference, maybe he doesn't, but he gets the tone. Blair gets a couple of kicks to his back that leave him arched in awkward, sweating pain
OW's version:
Maybe [the villain] got the reference, and maybe he didn’t, but he certainly got the tone. It made Bill the recipient of a couple more kicks to his back, ones that had made him arch in awkward, sweating pain.
My story:
His voice is terribly calm and even, telling Jim to breathe, just breathe, and Jim tries, he really tries, but should the walls be doing that?
OW's version
Bill's voice was terribly calm and even, telling Alex to breathe, just breathe, and Alex tried, God, he really tried, but should the sky be doing that? It shouldn't move by starlight, undulate like it was alive
My story:
Memory loss and blackout are common when the brain is left adrift on a sea of foreign chemicals.
OW's version:
Alex knew that memory loss and blackouts were common when the brain was left adrift on a sea of foreign chemicals.
My story:
There are words for what Jim feels in this instant, this never going to end, infinitely frustrating and scary instant that he doesn't know how to deal with. Disoriented. Manic. They're words, and words aren't anything Jim can use right now. His mouth is moving, his throat is vibrating and he doesn't have a clue what he's saying, or what Blair is saying. Blair has his hands out - entreating Jim to do something or not do something, but all that Jim knows is that he's all wrong. Everything is wrong, sight is wrong and shutting his eyes does nothing. His skin is crawling, crawling, because there's something in his clothes. Lice; he tried in the jungle, but when you only have one set of clothes, the lice come and make a home. That's why his skin itches, and he throws his things off, and then he shudders as a tidal wave of goose-bumps inundates his skin. He's cold, but he can't bear his clothes, can't bear this, can't bear anything, can't bear the fright in Blair's voice, can't...
OW's version:
Disoriented. Slippery. Manic. Everything was all wrong.
Alex heard words, and words weren’t anything Alex could use.
His mouth was moving, his throat was vibrating, and he didn’t have a clue what he had been saying, or what Bill was saying.
Bill had his hands out. He was entreating Alex to do something or not to do something, but all that Alex knew is that everything was twisting up, collapsing in on itself, and they were in danger of blinking out.
Alex's sight was wrong, and shutting his eyes did nothing.
His skin was crawling. There was something in his clothes, ants maybe. That's why his skin itched. Alex threw his things off, and then shuddered as a tidal wave of goose bumps washed across his skin.
He was cold, but he couldn’t bear to have his clothes, couldn’t bear this, couldn’t bear anything, and couldn’t bear the fright in Bill's voice.
My story:
'Long-haired pretty boy'. Was that Waters's voice, or Corcoran's voice? "Did those bastards throw sexual assault into the mix along with those little love-taps they gave you?" Jim's voice is ferocious, and Blair shrinks down, just for a second, before he smiles, and shakes his head.
OW's version:
“He’s a curly-haired, pretty, pretty man."
The voice cut into the dark of his bedroom. It almost made Alex turn on the light to make sure he was alone......
......Had they thrown sexual assault into the mix along with those little love-taps they given Bill?
My story:
Perhaps Jim sleeps for a while. Perhaps he zones. There's a voice, not the comforting one. Jim aches to attack, to rend with his hand and his teeth, but his limbs are shaking too much. Finally the voice is gone. The shivers recede. Jim sleeps again and wakes to the anchor of scent and comfort once more. He stretches out his hand. Stubble against his palm, the weave of a thin t-shirt, the rising and falling of a chest as someone - Blair, that's right, Blair - breathes in and out. Hand on the roughness of denim, shape of a hip - and the rhythm of the breathing hitches into irregularity.
"Hey. Hey, buddy, that's maybe not a good idea. Come on, come on, Jim..." Blair shifts. "Ow." Wrong, wrong touch, but if Jim moves, if Jim does that - right, right touch. Blair whispers, "Don't, don't do this, Jim, oh, oh, bad idea, Sandburg. Oh, damn." Scent is good; the scents of filth and hurt are pushed aside, ignorable. Touch is good, touch given as well as received. The only noise that comes from Blair now is his breathing, and one low groan. Not a sound of pain.
OW's version:
here was stubble against his palm, the weave of a thin t-shirt, the rise and fall of someone's chest… Bill, that's right...it was Bill… He breathed in and out. Alex’s hand felt the roughness of denim, shape of a hip... the curve of… and the rhythm of the breathing had hitched into irregularity.
"Hey. Hey, buddy, that's maybe not a good idea. Come on, come on, Alex..."
“Ow."
Wrong, wrong touch, but when Alex moved, when Alex did that right…ahh… and grasped and stroked there, Bill had whispered, "Don't, don't do this, Alex ... Oh, damn."
It was what was going to save him, to keep him him from being cut loose and disappearing.
Touch was now nothing but good.
My story:
Blair pulls out the big guns - sarcasm becomes clearly the veneer over earnest pain. "I have gone over what happened with you about one hundred times, man, and I don't have any insights to offer. You were drugged and freaky, I was scared as hell, we both survived, even if that poor dumb bastard Murray didn't. And now, I would like to have the chance to do the manly thing and just not think about things, okay?"
"Are you saying that I'm not manly, Sandburg?" The tone is mockingly aghast, and Blair smiles at the concession. Jim is letting himself be diverted. Maybe he is being an ass-hole, but anxiety keeps gnawing at him. He ought to remember, damn it. He ought to, even if he doesn't know why.
"Totally letting down your macho side." Blair gets up from the chair by the table, and pats once, oddly tentative, at Jim's shoulder. "We're both okay and that's good. Let the bad guys beware, huh?" Then he's back at the table, pecking away at the laptop, squinting at the screen until he remembers his glasses; not looking at Jim at all.
OW's version:
“Listen.” Bill got up from the chair and patted Alex’s shoulder, an oddly tentative gesture. “You were drugged and freaky, I was scared as hell, but we both survived, we got the job done, and we’re okay. And now, I would like to have the chance to do the manly thing and just not think about things, talk about them, okay? Give us that."
And there's more. The last section of OW's story follows the basic arrangement of mine fairly closely. It's not exactly the same but the situation is the same and the cherry-picking of certain phrases is the same.
Ack. I think, I think that this is a case of hero-worship gone wrong, but it really leaves a bad taste in my mouth. As I said, this is someone I've had cordial relations with before now, and I've enjoyed their writing, which I believe, in general, is their own writing. But this is a really unpleasant situation, and I've already let some trusted friends know who the writer in question is. If you do know who this person is, or figure it out, please do not name them in this post.
Aaarrgghhh!!!! ::head-desks repeatedly::
ETA A copy of the PM I sent the person in question
Hi [author who I'll never be able to read again without wondering if you nicked the best bits of your story from someone else]
I've just recently enjoyed a binge of reading [not TS] fanfic, and I read your story [title redacted].
There are a lot of similarities, right down to many turns of phrase, between [title redacted] and my own story, Right Memory, which was posted about four or five months before [title redacted].
http://mab-browne.livejournal.com/149980.html#cutid1
The similarities are so marked that I think that either my story should be acknowledged in some sort of author's note, or else your story should be taken down. I'm happy to leave that to your discretion and preference, and I'm happy to keep this matter between ourselves at this time.
However, I have to admit that I feel very uncomfortable, and also very disappointed, that I have to bring this situation to your attention.
Mab