I am a massive self-plagiarist.  Although I may not use that particular term.  It has somewhat negative connotations.  I prefer ‘recycler’.  In our eco-conscious world, that sounds positively admirable.

Having made my confession, I feel I should be allowed to make some case for the defence.  I do not believe that I am a bad self-plagiarist on a scale of self-plagiarism.  But isn’t that every defendant’s plea?  Perhaps, I should first clarify a few terms.

Self-plagiarism is the copying of one’s own work to then republish it in a different form.  This becomes problematic in the case of an academic, who may benefit from an artificially increased number of citations, or with a publisher, if copyright is infringed in any way.

I plead ‘not guilty’ to either of these charges.

My own self-plagiarism is the result of pure vanity; a belief that my precious, hallowed words could benefit from a wider airing; that an audience, which missed my original bon mots the first time around deserves a second chance to admire my literary adroitness.  While I might call it recycling, it is closer to regurgitation; the unwelcome return of the unpalatable posset, which was never wanted in the first place.

Unlike William Faulkner, I find it hard to ‘kill my darlings’.  I am much more likely to be found attempting to breathe fresh life into them.

Take note: I will probably use that analogy again.

© Fergus Longfellow

Fergus Longfellow hunts for a bon mot to recycle.