The Mystery of Fan Fic, and Jane Eyre's Soap

Jane Eyre Makes the Best Honey-Lemon Soap!

I never got that thing about writing fan fic. Stories about Captain Kirk and Mr. Spock? What? What planet were they on when that happened? Was Mr. Spock in pon farr? I thought Vulcans just liked to fight when…oh. No. Absolutely not. I can’t think about this. I need to put this in a small box in my mind and lock it away.

But my recent obsession with soap-making has led me down the fan fic garden path. What kind of soap does Hester Pryne use? The first time I tried to read The Scarlet Letter I became so infuriated I threw the book. Literally, and I am not the throwing-the-book type. My third effort, age 52, was the first time I made it through the entire story. Darling, I am going to make you some wonderful soap, not that any soap can make up for those men around you, but some soap that will lift your battered heart just a bit. Some rose clay, for gentleness, but with a tiny scent of the wild pine forest.

What kind of soap does Lord Byron use? Something just a little bit over the edge, because he was one for pushing the boundaries. He was the guy that drank too much, loved too hard, laughed too loud, tried to swim too far. Wrote too beautifully. Hard to love him in person, I imagine. Too exhausting. He must have known the way people drew back from him just a bit, and he was never sure what he had done to push them away. I need to write him a scene, just a small story, so we can see into his lonely heart, and give him someone who can love him. What kind of soap? Something exotic and fresh, a strange combination. Sandalwood and Black Pepper?

Captain Ahab needs some soap, some strong soap that will lather up even in salt-water. He needs more than soap, actually. I’m concerned. He needs medication and therapy, but for now we will just offer up a clean-smelling bar with seaweed and coconut. I’ll offer up the soap and then get out of his way. This man and his obsession could take us all down.

Jane Eyre needs a special soap. She is THE romance heroine, the umbilicus mundi for romance writers. She needs a rich, sweet-smelling soap, so that when she lowers her tired face into her hands at the end of the day, hands full of creamy lather, she can close her eyes and remember Mr. Rochester. This was the only time of day she let herself think of him, let herself remember. The way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled. The way he turned his head so eagerly to look for her when she walked into the room, always with that smile. She lowered her face into her hands, scrubbed away the dirt and traces of tears, and smelled Mr. Rochester just for a moment.

Okay, so now I get fan fic.