How to know you've arrived in fandom...
So, today started well. Was on my way to a breakfast seminar when someone ran into the back of my car. I was stationary, waiting for the lights to change, and apparently she had her head in the clouds. Thankfully no one was hurt, and there doesn't appear to be any damage to either car - not even a scratch on my bumper - but it didn't half give me a shock.
Then I come home and find an e-mail informing that I've been plagiarised. Yep. Someone took my story, Silence (which was written in 2001 or 2002 - in any case, it was nominated for an SG Fan Award for Best Story in 2002) and filed the numbers off, reposting it as a Torchwood fic.
I only read the first couple of paragraphs - I couldn't bear to read any more even though I'm not particularly precious - and it is literally a word for word copy/paste job from what I can see.
Just in case she deletes it now that I've posted, I've saved it to my hard drive and here's a comparison of the first few paras of the two:
Silence by alyse
Warmth sank into him, soaking into his very bones. The water he floated in cushioned him, isolating him from the environment around him. From outside, from distraction, from the 'real world'. From everything that mattered.
He let his head slide underneath the surface, leaving only his face exposed to the cool night air. His ears filled, muffling the sounds around him, blanketing him from it all. The steady plink plink of the tap as it dripped into the bath. The groaning of the pipes. His own heartbeat. They were the only noises he could hear, and even then not clearly. Everything else was distant, drowned out by the silence.
He needed that.
He let his limbs float, heavy in the water, the feeling strangely disjointed. His eyes were tightly screwed shut. It wouldn't have mattered if he'd opened them, not really. He'd turned off the lights as soon as the door closed safely behind him and it was late now, very late, the only illumination coming through the small frosted window, dim and soothing. He was eight floors above the streetlights, and the sound of what little traffic there was at this hour was as dimmed by distance as anything else.
Soothing silence, blackness held him, cradled him as gently in its grasp as the water around him.
It should have left him terrified, fearing for his sanity, his very soul following recent events. That darkness shouldn't have been welcome - he should have craved the light, longed for it with the same intensity as he'd longed for other things in his life. Love, happiness, peace. He'd craved it once - an eternity ago. Before that eternity, when minutes, hours, days had stretched forever and he'd been lost. Isolated. Cut-off. So terribly, completely alone. Deaf, blind, numb - on the outside at least. The inside was different. He'd never been anything less than utterly petrified, silent screams echoing in the vaults of his own mind. Oh yes, this darkness should have left him with that same sense of fear.
Isolation, nominally by wickedplotbunny but also by alyse
Warmth sank into him, soaking into his very bones.
He let his head slide underneath the surface, leaving only his face exposed to the cool night air. His ears filled, muffling the sounds around him, blanketing him from it all. The steady dripping of the tap into the sink, the groaning of the pipes beneath him, his own heartbeat; they were the only noises he could hear, and even then, they were muffled and distorted. Everything else was distant, drowned out by the silence.
He needed that.
His eyes were tightly screwed shut, although it wouldn’t have mattered a great deal if he'd opened them, not really. He had turned off the lights as soon as the door closed safely behind him and it was late now, very late, the only illumination coming through the small frosted window, dim and soothing. He was six floors above the streetlights, and the sound of what little traffic there was at this hour was muted by distance. He thought of the whirl of activity outside, even at this hour; clouds rushing the sky, frenzied traffic dipping in and out of the motorways, the sun plummeting below to the horizon, with another day over. Time rush. Blood rush.
It should have left him terrified, fearing for his sanity following recent events. That darkness shouldn't have been welcome - he should have craved the light, longed for it with the same intensity as he’d longed for happiness, peace, redemption. He'd craved it once - an eternity ago. Before that eternity, when minutes, hours, days had stretched forever and he'd been lost. Isolated. So terribly alone. Deaf, blind, numb - on the outside at least. He'd never been anything less than utterly petrified, silent, harsh screams echoing wildly in the vaults of his mind. Yes, this darkness should have left him with that same sense of fear.
Yep. The bold bits were written by yours truly. And I have erred on the side of caution - the only things bolded should be direct lifts. I haven't bolded anything that's paraphrased rather than word for word, even though in many cases there's very little difference.
Honestly. What's the point in ripping off someone else? Apart from anything else, every single complimentary comment must ring hollow and it's not like you can tell anyone who says they didn't like it that that's okay. You didn't bloody write it!
ETA: And, lo, she hath deleted her LJ. Because that's the sign of a clear conscience.
ETA2: But, lo, because I am an ex-archivist and therefore sneaky as a sneaky thing, I have the html page and lots of lovely screencaps:
http://www.alyse.info/plagiarism/plagiarism1.jpg
http://www.alyse.info/plagiarism/plagiarism2.jpg
http://www.alyse.info/plagiarism/plagiarism3.jpg
http://www.alyse.info/plagiarism/plagiarism4.jpg
http://www.alyse.info/plagiarism/plagiarism5.jpg
http://www.alyse.info/plagiarism/plagiarism6.jpg
http://www.alyse.info/plagiarism/plagiarism7.jpg
http://www.alyse.info/plagiarism/plagiarism8.jpg
http://www.alyse.info/plagiarism/plagiarism9.jpg
http://www.alyse.info/plagiarism/plagiarism10.jpg
http://www.alyse.info/plagiarism/plagiarism11.jpg
http://www.alyse.info/plagiarism/plagiarism12.jpg
ETA3: From ljseek: the cached version of the post and a list of places that linked to it.
Then I come home and find an e-mail informing that I've been plagiarised. Yep. Someone took my story, Silence (which was written in 2001 or 2002 - in any case, it was nominated for an SG Fan Award for Best Story in 2002) and filed the numbers off, reposting it as a Torchwood fic.
I only read the first couple of paragraphs - I couldn't bear to read any more even though I'm not particularly precious - and it is literally a word for word copy/paste job from what I can see.
Just in case she deletes it now that I've posted, I've saved it to my hard drive and here's a comparison of the first few paras of the two:
Silence by alyse
Warmth sank into him, soaking into his very bones. The water he floated in cushioned him, isolating him from the environment around him. From outside, from distraction, from the 'real world'. From everything that mattered.
He let his head slide underneath the surface, leaving only his face exposed to the cool night air. His ears filled, muffling the sounds around him, blanketing him from it all. The steady plink plink of the tap as it dripped into the bath. The groaning of the pipes. His own heartbeat. They were the only noises he could hear, and even then not clearly. Everything else was distant, drowned out by the silence.
He needed that.
He let his limbs float, heavy in the water, the feeling strangely disjointed. His eyes were tightly screwed shut. It wouldn't have mattered if he'd opened them, not really. He'd turned off the lights as soon as the door closed safely behind him and it was late now, very late, the only illumination coming through the small frosted window, dim and soothing. He was eight floors above the streetlights, and the sound of what little traffic there was at this hour was as dimmed by distance as anything else.
Soothing silence, blackness held him, cradled him as gently in its grasp as the water around him.
It should have left him terrified, fearing for his sanity, his very soul following recent events. That darkness shouldn't have been welcome - he should have craved the light, longed for it with the same intensity as he'd longed for other things in his life. Love, happiness, peace. He'd craved it once - an eternity ago. Before that eternity, when minutes, hours, days had stretched forever and he'd been lost. Isolated. Cut-off. So terribly, completely alone. Deaf, blind, numb - on the outside at least. The inside was different. He'd never been anything less than utterly petrified, silent screams echoing in the vaults of his own mind. Oh yes, this darkness should have left him with that same sense of fear.
Isolation, nominally by wickedplotbunny but also by alyse
Warmth sank into him, soaking into his very bones.
He let his head slide underneath the surface, leaving only his face exposed to the cool night air. His ears filled, muffling the sounds around him, blanketing him from it all. The steady dripping of the tap into the sink, the groaning of the pipes beneath him, his own heartbeat; they were the only noises he could hear, and even then, they were muffled and distorted. Everything else was distant, drowned out by the silence.
He needed that.
His eyes were tightly screwed shut, although it wouldn’t have mattered a great deal if he'd opened them, not really. He had turned off the lights as soon as the door closed safely behind him and it was late now, very late, the only illumination coming through the small frosted window, dim and soothing. He was six floors above the streetlights, and the sound of what little traffic there was at this hour was muted by distance. He thought of the whirl of activity outside, even at this hour; clouds rushing the sky, frenzied traffic dipping in and out of the motorways, the sun plummeting below to the horizon, with another day over. Time rush. Blood rush.
It should have left him terrified, fearing for his sanity following recent events. That darkness shouldn't have been welcome - he should have craved the light, longed for it with the same intensity as he’d longed for happiness, peace, redemption. He'd craved it once - an eternity ago. Before that eternity, when minutes, hours, days had stretched forever and he'd been lost. Isolated. So terribly alone. Deaf, blind, numb - on the outside at least. He'd never been anything less than utterly petrified, silent, harsh screams echoing wildly in the vaults of his mind. Yes, this darkness should have left him with that same sense of fear.
Yep. The bold bits were written by yours truly. And I have erred on the side of caution - the only things bolded should be direct lifts. I haven't bolded anything that's paraphrased rather than word for word, even though in many cases there's very little difference.
Honestly. What's the point in ripping off someone else? Apart from anything else, every single complimentary comment must ring hollow and it's not like you can tell anyone who says they didn't like it that that's okay. You didn't bloody write it!
ETA: And, lo, she hath deleted her LJ. Because that's the sign of a clear conscience.
ETA2: But, lo, because I am an ex-archivist and therefore sneaky as a sneaky thing, I have the html page and lots of lovely screencaps:
http://www.alyse.info/plagiarism/plagiarism1.jpg
http://www.alyse.info/plagiarism/plagiarism2.jpg
http://www.alyse.info/plagiarism/plagiarism3.jpg
http://www.alyse.info/plagiarism/plagiarism4.jpg
http://www.alyse.info/plagiarism/plagiarism5.jpg
http://www.alyse.info/plagiarism/plagiarism6.jpg
http://www.alyse.info/plagiarism/plagiarism7.jpg
http://www.alyse.info/plagiarism/plagiarism8.jpg
http://www.alyse.info/plagiarism/plagiarism9.jpg
http://www.alyse.info/plagiarism/plagiarism10.jpg
http://www.alyse.info/plagiarism/plagiarism11.jpg
http://www.alyse.info/plagiarism/plagiarism12.jpg
ETA3: From ljseek: the cached version of the post and a list of places that linked to it.