Showing posts with label plagiarism. Show all posts
Showing posts with label plagiarism. Show all posts

Thursday, January 10, 2008

Plagiarism Continues to Marr the Face of Romance

But this time, folks, we're not talking about a small e-published author and a fanfiction writer. Not that Amanda's case against JJ Massa is therefore any less important or should be given any less credence. I came out publicly in support of Amanda, and my opinion has not changed. But this time the industry has taken notice and yesterday the Associated Press jumped into the fray.


This time the allegations are against Cassie Edwards. I could summarize the chain of events here, but, to quote (QUOTE, as in provide citations and indications that the words are not mine) from Lewis Carroll, it's best to "Start at the beginning...continue on until the end, then stop."

Head on over to Smart Bitches, where SB Candy first broke the story. Follow the links from there, read the half dozen posts on the subject, and draw your own conclusions.

The Bitches and Jane over at Dear Author have eloquently stated everything that I could wish to say on the subject, so I won't waste time reiterating what they've already said.

I was disturbed by Ms. Edwards' quote to the AP:

A popular romance novelist alleged to have lifted work from other texts acknowledged that she sometimes "takes" her material "from reference books," but added that she didn't know she was supposed to credit her sources.

"When you write historical romances, you're not asked to do that," Cassie Edwards told The Associated Press, speaking earlier this week from her home in Mattoon, Ill.

A poster over at Smart Bitches has come to Ms. Edwards' defense, stating that when any of us have written "a hundred novels, or even one," we'll have cause to criticize her.

Well, I haven't written a hundred novels, but I have written three. I have published 6 works of varying lengths in the last two years, with almost as many slated for release or composition in 2008. And, like Ms. Edwards, I write historical romance. So I know a thing or two about research, and writing. Throw in two years of law school, with a self-imposed focus on entertainment law and copyright. Add a splash of my best friend being plagiarized by another author, and I know a thing or two about plagiarism also.

I do copious amounts of research for my novels. (Whether I always get everything 100% is another story!) The more I write about a certain time period, the less I am required to do for each subsequent book, naturally, because I learn the bulk of what I need to know the first time around. I take great pride in my at-time obsessive research - Katrina Strauss can tell you about the time I spent half a day researching Ancient Roman dress or the afternoon I spent reading up on pencils in Regency England. In addition to the online resources I use, I have an entire shelf in my office filled with books on everything from Scots Gaelic (used for Leading Her to Heaven) to Gypsy law (for Svetkavista).

No, I don't cite my sources. That would certainly be absurd. Depending upon how heavily I rely on a certain source, I will credit it in either the Acknowledgments or my author's note (I love author's notes!). What I do not do is copy passages, verbatim, from references sources and place them in my own work. If you've read Candy's evidence over at Smart Bitches, you'll see that's exactly what Ms. Edwards did.

Typically, I don't use anything so significantly as to justify citing - for "Unspeakable," to give an example, I consulted about a dozen sources to learn about pencils in Regency England. Were they used frequently? What were they made of? What were they called? Would it make sense for my heroine to have them? When I was satisfied, I did indeed give Emma a pencil. Hours of research funneled into this:

On impulse, Emma grabbed a sheet of writing paper and a pencil from her desk as she passed by it, and shoved them into the pocket of her cloak.

That's really it. The result of my research on Roman dress? It was used here:

The man stood some paces away, leaning casually against a tree, one foot propped in front of the other. He was a warrior, dressed for battle in golds, reds, and silvers, and by the finery of his armor, someone of great import. Tight golden ringlets peeked out from beneath his galea, a silver helmet trimmed in gold, which framed the wide square of his jaw and cleft chin. He had a slender, aquiline nose, thin, defined lips, and deep set blue eyes below thick, golden brows.

His breastplate was made of the same silver and gold as his galea, and on each breast were great black horses, rearing up on hind legs, flame and smoke curling from their nostrils. Affixed to the left side of his balteus, which appeared to be made of cast brass, and overlain with silver, was a large gladius, its hilt made entirely of gold, the steel blade etched with intricate patterns. His paenula, fastened around his shoulders with a gold, jewel-encrusted fibula the size of an apple, draped his shoulders and brushed the ground, made of fabric far too delicate to have been wool, the color a deep, rich red the likes of which Rhea had never seen before. His tunic was obstructed by thick leather pteruges, hanging from his waist to his knees. Below that his legs were bare – tanned and muscular, raw power bunched in the clearly defined ridges of his calves.

Even his caligae were elaborately crafted, strips of gold affixed to the leather wrappings around his feet and ankles, they sparkled in the dying light. His figure inspired fear and…something else, that Rhea could not quite define.

And I don't begrudge it one bit. It's a necessary part of my craft, and truth be told, I enjoy research almost as much as I enjoy crafting and composing stories in my head. I'm not going to speculate as to why Cassie Edwards did what she did. It could, indeed, have been ignorance (though I find that justification requires her to be stupid, or to think we are), but the entire affair is disappointing.

Romance writers are already discredited as hacks by authors of other genres, and some readers (had an interesting discussion with my sister over the holiday about romance novels, what they are and what they aren't, but that's another post entirely). In some ways, historical romance authors have an even tougher battle. Miss one single detail, and there will be someone, somewhere, who will catch it and bring it to your attention. You'll be accused of sloppy research or no research at all. I've experienced it, and it sucks. Spend too much time on the little details, and you bore your readers. Don't spend enough, and you haven't built a believable foundation for your characters' story.

Case in point. January Magazine has had this to say about the issue: "A publishing tale this sordid could only spring from romance." It's foolishly untrue, of course, but it's been said all the same.

Saturday, December 01, 2007

Accusations of Plagiarism Against Well-Known Ebook Author

Several days ago, a fanfiction author named Amanda posted on reviewer Elisa Rolle's LiveJournal that JJ Massa's book, The Edge, is a plagiarized version of her fanfiction piece, Another Time, Another Place.

Rites of Romance owner Ash Arceneaux was the first to blog the news, and within the last few days more allegations have surfaced regarding Massa borrowing work from other fanfiction authors and even New York Times Bestseller Christine Feehan. Amanda has also posted on Ash's blog.

I may get myself in trouble for this one, but...I have read and compared the fanfiction with Ms. Massa's book. I have spoken with Amanda, the fanfic author. At this point, I believe her. If it's a hoax and I'm wrong, I'll willingly eat crow. But this seems legit to me. And what personal stake do I have in this?

Other than the fact that plagiarism makes my blood boil, and I see it as something that every author should be vigilant about and fight against, nothing. It affects us all, because it could happen to any one of us. In fact, Amanda didn't even know about this until very recently. Someone read her fic and the book and has been trying to reach her for a year to let her know. It could have already happened to me, or you, without us knowing. As writers, our books are more than simple diversions - they are us. My writing is me; my heart, my soul, my blood poured out in black and white. My characters are my happiness and my joy; my sorrow and my pain. They are both a part of me and real to me. I am never more vulnerable to a person than when they are reading my work. Nora Roberts has related her experience of being plagiarized to "mind rape." Katrina Strauss, who was also plagiarized, has said the same thing.

A plagiarist is the lowest of the low. Bottom of the barrel moldy disease-infected pond scum. We as writers have a duty to police ourselves against this creative vampirism, and to stop it when we find it. To ignore it is, in a sense, to condone it.


A few bad apples spoil the bunch, as they say, and I can only hope this doesn't undermine the credibility of the small press industry as a whole. (okay, overreacting? Maybe. Maybe not.)

Not every scene in The Edge was taken from Another Time, Another Place, but some of it is word for word. Some examples are below.

JJ Massa's Book, now pulled from Linden Bay

Amanda's Star Trek AU fic

Philadelphia—the city of brotherly love. Yeah, I feel the love. Tyler winced and slung his backpack over his aching shoulder. Taking a deep breath, he forced himself off the teeming sidewalk and up the battered stairs of the old, red-bricked precinct house.

The inside foyer was even more chaotic than the busy street he'd just left. The room he found himself in was peopled with glowering teens, screaming whores, a few stumbling drunks, and a plethora of independent chemists and their staff.

Tyler dropped his backpack onto the desk letting the noise of its landing grab the attention of a surly looking officer who'd been flicking through a magazine.

"You want something?" he growled, "Just get in line."

Tyler eyed him coldly, nodding his head at the motley mass of human chaos assembled. "I'm not here to sightsee. My name's Tyler Baker."

The cop's lip curled in an outright sneer of contempt. He looked Tyler up and down rudely. "You're late. Lieu expected you a couple hours ago."

"My plane was delayed. I've only been in the city an hour," he began to explain patiently.

"Look deep into my eyes, Baker," he said scornfully. "See any give-a-shit in there?"

Tyler folded his arms across his chest. "You got a problem with me, officer?" he demanded icily.

New York, New York. So good they named it twice.

::Yeah, right::

Tom hoisted his knap-sack higher over his aching shoulder and stared with ill-disguised disgust at the crumbling red-stone exterior of the precinct house until the impatient bustling of passers-by forced him to mount the steps and walk inside.

::Shit::

The foyer was more chaotic than the street he'd left behind. The room was filled with screaming whores, sullen teens, a couple of blood-splattered drunks and someone curled up on the floor in one corner in a puddle of vomit. Tom wasn't sure whether the huddled body was a homeless guy sleeping in the station or a corpse.

At the desk a couple of burly uniforms had some crack-head pinned against the wall while a third cop performed a public strip-search.

He slammed his knap-sack down on the desk and the noise startled a bored-looking cop to belch and frown in his direction.

"What the fuck's your problem? Join the queue."

Tom curled his mouth into a sneer of derision, cocking his head mockingly at the bedlam that purported to be a 'queue'. "I'm not part of the entertainment. My name's Tom Paris."

The cop returned his sneer, sliding his eyes up and down Tom's body with obvious contempt. "You're late. The Cap'n expected you two hours ago."

"My plane got delayed. I only arrived an hour ago and I had to drop off my luggage."

"Tell it to someone who cares, Paris."


AMANDA'S STORY:

Chapter 3 excerpt:

At Chakotay's greeting, Torres straightened up, tore the blood-soiled latex glove off her right hand with a loud snap, and pushed her hair back out of her face.

MASSA'S BOOK

Chap3 Excerpt

At Paytah's greeting, Medical Examiner Lida Amanda straightened up, pulled the bloodstained latext glove off her right hand with a resonating snap, and pushed her abundant hair off of her face.


KJ