Have you ever heard the story of Tam Lin?
Probably not.
Unless, of course, you’re one of the millions of readers and fans of Sarah J Maas’ A Court of Thorns and Roses.
I confess to being one of those people who tries and tries so hard to avoid “going mainstream” and getting sucked into the same book, movie, or television show just because “everyone is reading/watching” because I’m a rebellious soul like that. I hate groupthink. I just want to enjoy a good book because I personally think it’s good (which is why I tend to be That Person who says crazy things like “Shatter Me is actually great”, and “Fifty Shades has little to do with BDSM and everything to do with trauma”).
I was so proud of my ability to avoid the siren song of ACOTR despite it being in my all-time favorite genre — fairytale fantasy — until I scrolled through my Instagram (@nikkiauberkett btw) and someone made a comment about how Maas’ series was one of their favorite retellings.
What?
I was skeptical. Expecting yet another Hades & Persephone retelling (don’t you dare judge me, Prax is absolutely NOT a retelling! It is a “continuation of” and I will die on this hill), I plugged the title into Google with “is a retelling of” and skimmed the results.
Count on Maas to dig through the archives of forgotten folklore and pull out a golden nugget.
Dammit.
Here’s the thing: retellings are important. Nay, they are vital to the literary world and our cultures in general, because they are the vehicles of memory for stories long forgotten over time, oceans, and sociopolitical/socioeconomic struggles. Without retellings, we’d be quick to forget the lessons our ancestors wove into the original stories and risk making the same mistakes over and over again.
I mean, to be fair, we still manage to make the same mistakes over and over again. But I digress.
I’ve spoken with quite a few aspiring authors who become instantly deflated when they realize their stories echo one that’s already been told, and it breaks my heart to see such excitement suddenly vanish. This happened with one of my best friends only yesterday when I mentioned I’d realized our collaborative project (an upcoming modern fantasy, stay tuned!) falls into the “Little Mermaid” category of retellings based on the core structure.
I was thrilled — she was not.
Here’s the thing: technically, there’s no such thing as a truly original story. Everything we write, read, film, etc. has been told before, in one way or another, and we’re simply sharing what we know. The exceptions are when we tell our own stories we experienced, like with Disney’s Encanto, which was inspired by the creator’s family history. Even then, though, we still get vibes from other stories we’re very familiar with, from the overbearing matriarch to the enchanted living space.
My own novel, Prax, is largely inspired by true events, personal experiences, an actual missing persons cold case I was there for when it went down, and I still wove in familiar mythologies to tie it all together. Because why not?
Suffice it to say, you have nothing to worry about when it comes to writing something original — because at the end of the day, it’s still your story, your voice, and no one tells it like you because no one else is you.