Those who dropped the “You’re just pregnant” comment did so only once…
(she says like a Mother dragon who just charred a city of naysayers to the ground and breathes in the ashes of her handy work).
So You Are… Pregnant! By Molly Meary, Page 35: Soldier On
I wrote this. Before GoT Season 8. Before the GoT finale. Before I’d seen the finale. Before I’d read 5 billion spoilers on the finale. Before I read the 10 billion complaints about the finale.
Wayyyy before any of it I penned these words, typed them, formatted them, nurtured them, loved them. I was proud of them.
This is the absolute truth.
It’s not the greatest time to be a Game of Thrones fan and even worse timing to be a writer making weird-ass predictions about one of the worst parts of the ridiculously famous series. But the shittiest of them all is that my book isn’t even a bloody fantasy and I still can’t use it because it literally looks like a direct rip-off!
I really loved that line – almost as much as I loved Daenerys (I am one of the many die hard nerds who was going to name my daughter Khaleesi. She came a close tie to my favourite winery at the time – Amberley. Yes. Priority parenting.) and it was perfectly placed in my little rant-fest about people making the “You’re not dying – you’re just pregnant” comment whenever a preggo declines a party or literally needs to rest because of the bullshit strain of being pregnant. Which is a privilege and a miracle and millions of women go through it and all that – but this was in context with many non-preggos being judgy a-holes.
I was sure not to put “Mother of” because even though it’s a tiny hat tip to the legendary Daenerys, the focus was on pregnant women and the intense power they yield especially when unfairly provoked. While the Mother of Dragons is of course a power house Mum – the potential copyright of George. R. R Martin’s creation, the show and their part in revamping dragon mythology – was neither a breach I needed, nor the point I was trying to make.
My dragon is the mother and only she is in control of her own fire and certainly doesn’t take orders to unleash it. From a personal perspective I relate to that loose cannon pregnancy vibe. I wanted to conjure an actual dragon mother for the reader and that feeling (I certainly experienced) when pregnant women are pushed just that bit too far and a powerful, unexplainable force churns deep within the womb and any naysaying fckwits in our bellysphere are in danger of a singeing from the firey maternal tongue sword. You know.
Charred civilians aside, this actually did come from a peaceful place. My writers group was knee deep in our Fantasy anthology, so inspiration was in the air and I wanted to filter that into a very reality heavy book. It was really birthed from good old fantasy cliches and it doesn’t get more cliched than bloody dragons.
All was fine and dandy until the MoD herself flipping flame balled Kings Landing and my girl power one liner flopped on the floor like a bag full of slugs.
I could hear 19 million naysayers (the ones my dragon would have probably burnt to a crisp) crying “Charlatan! Thief!” from their keyboarded towers. Instant troll-fearing-goo-puddle-melting for insignificant and anonymous me-me. No thank you.
So what does a little fish do when they write material so close to something so huge but just didn’t get it out there first? Devastating yet super simple – re-write. Delete. Write a ‘poor me’ blog post on these first world issues and literally get back in my lane, which compared to that lot, is more like a dusty fire break than anything of real use to everyday traffic.
It’s just easier this way at this stage of my game and as I said in Chapter 64 – I am a life long subscriber to loserism. I know how to bend the knee, roll it over, take it up the foofah and still keep my sense of humour about things.
And seriously – if I can’t get bloody comma placement concepts how the hell am I going to comprehend the legalities of copyright (cue super intense google search) let alone be bothered taking on writing royalty, or bothering to ask permission for a wee little pregnancy book that probably 33 people will buy and that will mostly be family.
So we scrap.
Scrapping has been my method with most grey areas so far including the bastardisation of lyrics, quotes and just about anything that lifts my writing but uses others peoples material in order to do it. And while the free loving hippie in me sees this methodology as nothing more than admiration and building up fellow artists and their craft, clearly the world has lost its plot with IP and those who came before have muffed it for the rest of us.
Yes Ned. Such is life.
I guess it forces better writing which is fair, but some lines are like giving away the best puppy from the litter because someone in a way better position than you called dibs on it. Waaa! Boo. Oh woe is me. Again, I really loved that fricking line.
Okay. Cry baby is done now.
Update! The final draft: It appears I got over the above –
Those who drop the “You’re only pregnant” comment do so only once (she says like the Mother of all mythical fire breathing creatures who just charred the Town-of-Too-Much-Talky to the ground).