Some of the world's greatest writers were troubled. Things were going wrong. Their series' were getting torn to shreds by the new generation of nitpickers the books had been written for. Microscopic mistakes, barely noticeable shifts in and out of character, and mistakes in grammar/spelling that even the authors' parents wouldn't notice were pointed out and sneered at. Fanfiction writers popped up by the hundreds each day, publishing stories that they claimed were even better than the books they were modeled after. And they were celebrated, too, even the ones poorly written and without a drop of originality. Children- and even adults!- were uniting, in the sake of what they believed to be "the greater good".
The insanity had to stop. Things had to change, that all of the authors agreed.
Only a few days after this realization struck the last, stubborn author, a sign was sent out. A letter. From an unknown sender. Telling them, each and every one of them, to go to the one place safe from prying ears and eyes. Not Fort Knox. Not the Pentagon. But...
Canada. In a small warehouse on one of the islands of Nunavut, to be precise.
In some way or another, they managed to make it there on time, alone. Jets, boats, and even pegasi were taken. They knew it was urgent. Their author senses were tingling. This was cereal.
They would arrive to find a surprisingly large room, with a long table in the center, and nine chairs surrounding it. There was a note-card on the table, stating in fancy calligraphy,
Sit where it pleases you, but no squabbling.
First to enter was Erin Hunter. While there happened to actually be four persons who made up 'Erin Hunter', they had simply sent Victoria Homes, as was requested on their note.
She glanced around in confusion. "Is this the right place?" She mumbled.
Vicky(as she was known), squinted at the card. She shrugged, and sat down near the middle.
Thankfully, she had not long to wait.
Christopher Paolini walked in. "Wha-" He noticed Vicky. Both let out a silent sigh of relief.
So, this is where I was told to go?" He asked.
Vicky cocked her head. "You were told to come here too?"He nodded.
Their questions were cut short as the door swung open to reveal another man.
Rick Riordan. The man of the hour.
"I'm not the only one, then."
They both shook their heads.
"Sit where it pleases you, but no squabbling," he read aloud. "Hmph."
He placed himself at the end of the table, the spot of honor. Christopher hurriedly sat down next to Vicky.
Despite the fact that it was far too cold, in their opinion, for crickets, a chirping noise could be heard throughout the room. Mysteriously enough, the sound immediately stopped upon the next arrival, Cornelia Funke.
"Good Lord, it's cold!" She exclaimed, shivering. Rubbing her arms, she plunked herself down across from Vicky.
"The first thing I'm going to ask whoever sent us here is why we had to come to this God-forsaken frozen wasteland instead of a nice, warm beach in the Bahamas."
It seemed to break the ice, for for the next few minutes, things were peaceful as they chatted speculatively about who their mysterious sender was, and why they were there.
It was, relatively, calm, at least until the most famous author of all joined them.
"You," she spat in disgust upon spotting Rick. He, quite deliberately, looked around and yawned loudly and obviously.
The others could simply watch in bewilderment as she sat opposite of him, scowling in such a way that it was a surprise he didn't drop dead right there and then.
"Excuse me," he said lazily, "but I do believe you're mistaken."
"What are you two going on about?" Cornelia asked.
Rick rolled his eyes exaggeratedly. "Rowling, here," he said, gesturing offhandedly to her," childishly seems to think that I stole a select few of her characters and simply renamed them.
Joanne made a disparaging noise. "Yes, because I'm sure that your protagonist just happened to have green eyes and black hair. The Stoll brothers, anyone? They're carbon copies of the Weasley twins!"
Rick raised an eyebrow at her. "No need to speak in italics," he scolded. "What, I ask you, do Greek gods and their half-blood children have to do with wizards?"
"I wasn't contesting your plot, Riordan," she said, glaring at him. "Much as I detest admitting it, that part of your series is original. I am merely noting how similar some of our characters happen to be. Suspiciously alike, you might say."
They continued bickering on like this as the room gradually filled up.
Overall, the occupants were:
Jeanne Rowling, better known as J. K. Rowling, world famous author of the Harry Potter series.
Rick Riordan, a recent celebrity in the literary world due to his largely popular Percy Jackson and the Olympians series.
Cassandra Clare, not so well know, but still a celebrated writer due to her Motel Instruments series.
Victoria Homes, one of the four writers of Warriors, with an uncountable amount of books in the series.
Christopher Paolini, a celebrated author for his work in the Inheritance Cycle while still a somewhat inexperienced author.
Cornelia Funke, a writer who holds surprisingly small rank in the the world of literature, despite her two main series, The Inkworld Trilogy and Ghosthunters.
Suzanne Collins, a fresh-faced author with only the Hunger Games trilogy under her belt.
James Patterson, an experienced writer who gained himself a large fan-base with the Maximum Ride series.
And finally, newcomer Stephenie Meyer, one who possessed great talent that was about to be used, in the noblest way possible.
The noise level was quite loud at this point. Everything went quiet, however, when the beast entered the room. It was...
A red panda. It, quite suddenly, came through a door that none of them had happened to notice, rather mysteriously. As if sensing nine pairs of incredulous eyes upon it, it stood on its hind feet, and spoke in a brisk voice.
"Silence, please. The Master is about to arrive." It scurried out.
Cassandra began rubbing her eyes. "Am I dreaming?" she murmured.
A light voice answered her. "To answer that, Cassandra, no, you are not. You're simply in the world of fiction, the very world all of you paint your stories in."
Suzanne gasped. Facing them was a young girl, undoubtedly still school age, studying them with an amused look on her face.
James scrambled back, nearly tipping his chair over. "Who the hell are you?"
She regarded him seriously. "I would suggest you sit down, James. I assure you, should you comply with what I want, the very world of literature shall be saved. Thanks to each and every one of you."
He, warily, sat down.
She gave them a charming smile. "Now, as I was about to say, my name is Doctor Pepper. Much like the soda, yes? I am here to discuss with you the war on the brink of the horizon."
She surveyed the table. "Oh, but I forgot a chair for myself. No matter." She snapped her fingers, and a comfy chair appeared at the head of the table.
"Fanfiction writer," Someone hissed. She sighed. "Yes, I do write for fanfiction, but I am on your side. I only ask that you hear me out. Agreed?"
A rumble went through the room. She ignored that. "Very well! As I'm sure you all have noticed, the Fanfiction nation is stirring in revolt. Revolt against you. They plan to overthrow you, and when that happens, the world would be thrown into chaos."
Several people chuckled nervously, but her face was deadly cereal.
"Before we start on why this would happen and how it can be stopped, I must lay down the basics."
Suzanne yawned. Doctor Pepper's eyes snapped to her in an instant. "Something to add, Suzanne?" she asked innocently. While her voice was naive, her eyes held power, a slight glint of something that made you fear her.
Suzanne shook her head. "Good. Let's continue. First off, there are three types of Fanfic. writers. First, we have the Fangirls/boys, or Squees, as they are sometimes are called. These are readers that obsess over the pairings in book. By obsess, I mean, obsess. While they can be harmless, some are capable of being quite deadly. Fiercely protective of the pairings that they so cherish, should you have any opinions differing in the slightest from theirs', they attack you. They're oblivious to any flaws in the top it off, they're horrible writers. Horrid grammar, spelling, overused plots, their OCs are Mary-Sues, they turn canon characters OOC, they write bland romance, and when receiving any criticism, they flame reply the author. To those of you who aren't familiar with fanfiction terms, OC means Original Character, or a character that the author creates that isn't in the books. A Mary-Sue is a character who is completely perfect and flawless, and therefore the largest flaw of all in a story. OOC stands for Out Of Character, or when a character's personality is changed completely for no reason but to fit the story. And flames are reviews that are typically hate-filled and derogatory. "
She folded her hands in front of her. "Understand?"
She leaned back in her chair. "Good. While you'll find that there are some exceptions to the typical Fangirl, there aren't , we have the Neutrals. These make the most agreeable and easy to handle allies. They're writers who can analyze books and stories and see both the good and bad in it, while still having personal opinions on it. They can be very helpful for ideas and constructive criticism. These tend to make the best writers, because they aren't too opinionated. Finally, the last of the three, the Pessimists."
She made a face. "These are the opposite of fangirls. They also are the rarest type. They're writers who see flaws, and point them out bluntly. The typical flamer is a Pessimist, with the occasional Fangirl. Pessimist either hate a book or love it, depending on their perspective. Their worst enemy is the Fangirl, and their have been many vicious battles between them. While Pessimists have better weapons and writing, Fangirls have an advantage in their constantly swelling numbers."
She paused. "Any questions?"
"I have one," Rick barked. 'What does this have to do with us?"
"I was about to come to that," she said smoothly. "As I'm sure you all know, a battle is approaching. The three groups, Fangirl, Neutral, and Pessimist, have joined together to overthrow you."
"Didn't you say Neutrals are even-tempered?" Vicky blurted out.
Doctor Pepper leveled her gaze at her. "Indeed, but even Neutrals believe that their writing could be more famous than yours. Admittedly, they were somewhat reluctant in joining, but they still did"
She continued. "Should they win, which I assure you, they will," she held up a hand to stop the onslaught of protests about to come, "because of their superior numbers. tIhat would be bad enough. It would get worse, unfortunately. They hold a delicate peace, currently, as it is. With that amount of power, however, a whole new war would form. Fangirls and Pessimist would be fighting, with neutrals caught in the middle. Fangirls would triumph, with the amount of recruits they had. And the world would be a place of nightmares, with Fangirls and Mary-Sues ruling. Good writing would cease to exist. that is why we must stop it."
Suzanne shot up. "And what the shit do you suggest we do about it?" She raged. "You sit here, a child, talking to us like we're some sort of idiot, as if you're better than us. You tell us all this crap about what we're facing, as if we didn't already know. You think you can do better than us? I don't see any bestselling novels with your name on them out there, do I?"
"Sit. Down." Doctor Pepper's voice was steel.
Suzanne forcefully sat down, looking like she was about to strangle her. "Fine. Let's hear this wonderful, amazing plan you have."
Doctor Pepper stared at icily. "I did not force you to come here. I have not insulted you, and I must ask that you extend the same courtesy to me. If you cannot, leave. Now."
Without another word, Suzanne stalked out, slamming the door behind her. The others looked uneasy.
She grimaced. "I had been hoping it would not come to that. Very unfortunate. She could have contributed much."
She let out a breath. "Let us resume. Your options are limited. Defy them, and you will go down in flames. Ignore them, and you will be sought out and crushed. The only option is to divide them. This is where my plan comes in."
Her eyes flickered between faces. "We need a book series that will divide them so far, they will never be able to unite in such a way again. We need... a forbidden romance."
Gasps. "That, alone, will attract the Fangirls. To bait the trap, we shall make it a love triangle. And to close it, the two males competing for the heroine must be very attractive. Any movies made on it will only enhance the effect. To set the Pessimists against it, we must have a bad plot, and many, many errors, but not so many that even the Fangirls will spot them. They must be so blinded by the romance that only the Neutrals and Pessimist notice them. This will create the barrier between them. There will be only two sides: Those that love it, and those that hate it with every fiber of their being. This will create major clashes of opinions. After a time, things may settle, but the rift created would be far too large for them ever to be able to cross it again. You would be safe. For without all three groups, it is impossible for them to take over."
She rested her her chin. on her folded hands. "For this, we need a specific author. We need a rookie, one who hasn't published anything yet, for it will make them suspicious. This author must also be very skilled for such a task. Thus, I have picked the only writer among us who fits the necessary requirements.
Stephenie blinked. She had been silent throughout her whole speech, and to have this sprung on her...? BLASPHEMY. Just kidding!(not.)
She exhaled. "This may be a worthy cause, but what of me? Should I do what you ask, I would be discredited, and any other novels that I should write would always be viewed next to this series you speak of."
"Would you have all of us die for your reputation?" Riordan demanded.
"Silence." The words were firm. "I understand your position, Stephenie, and do not blame you. But you forget, that while you will be hated by some, you will be exalted by many. Any other books that you write will instantly be appraised because of your writing this series. Many fans will read it."
Stephenie looked away. "Very well." Her voice was bitter. "I'll do what you ask."
Doctor Pepper nodded. "Thank you. But you will need help in this. That is why I have called all of you today," she said, motioning to the room's other occupants. "You must help her create this series. You, the ones with experience and knowledge."
Hesitation. Could this truly be the answer to their problems? Such a simple answer. But, nonetheless, they moved to help her. Doctor Pepper produced a notebook and pen, of which she handed to them.
Afterwords, once the books were good and published and the approaching army scattered, none would remember what had gone on in that room. None but Doctor Pepper.
And thus, the Twilight series was created.
I'm going to say, right off the bat, that I had no intention of offending anyone. This was made purely for humor.
I don't want any whining over whether one author that I included wasn't that great or whether or not someone else should have been mentioned.
I don't own Twilight, contrary to this, and I don't own any of the authors mentioned or their books. Sorry, lawyers.
Constructive criticism welcomed!