Fan Fiction: A Mem-Noir: Inspired by True Events

By Brent Spiner and Jeanne Darst

Brent Spiner’s explosive and hilarious novel is a personal look at the slightly askew relationship between a celebrity and his fans. If the Coen Brothers were to make a Star Trek movie, involving the complexity of fan obsession and sci-fi, this noir comedy might just be the one.

Set in 1991, just as Star Trek: The Next Generation has rocketed the cast to global fame, the young and impressionable actor Brent Spiner receives a mysterious package and a series of disturbing letters, that take him on a terrifying and bizarre journey that enlists Paramount Security, the LAPD, and even the FBI in putting a stop to the danger that has his life and career hanging in the balance.

Featuring a cast of characters from Patrick Stewart to Levar Burton to Trek creator Gene Roddenberry, to some completely imagined, this is the fictional autobiography that takes readers into the life of Brent Spiner, and tells an amazing tale about the trappings of celebrity and the fear he has carried with him his entire life.

Fan Fiction is a zany love letter to a world in which we all participate, the phenomenon of “Fandom.”

• Language: English
• Publisher: Macmillan Publishers
• Release date: Oct 12, 2021
• ISBN: 9781250274373

Brent Spiner

BRENT SPINER is an actor, comedian, and singer best known for playing the android Lieutenant Commander Data on Star Trek: The Next Generation from 1987-1994. He has appeared in numerous television roles, in films, and in theatre on Broadway, Off-Broadway and in Los Angeles. He currently has a role in the T.V. series Star Trek: Picard.

Book preview

PROLOGUE

WHEN I WAS twenty-two years old, I left home for the first time and departed for New York City along with a meager cache of savings and the dream of being an actor. Traveling by train from Houston to Chicago to Buffalo and then down into Manhattan, I arrived on New Year’s Eve 1972 and took a room for the night at the New York Hilton on Sixth Avenue. At around eleven, I walked to Times Square, where there seemed to be at least a million people huddled together on Broadway and Seventh Avenue. It was freezing that night, about 1 degree Fahrenheit, but I didn’t even feel it. I had arrived! I was going to take the New York theater world by storm! When the legendary New Year’s Ball dropped at the stroke of midnight, I hugged and kissed absolute strangers. It was a very heady experience. I went back to the hotel, went to sleep, and woke up in the morning with a 102-degree fever, compliments of a catastrophic case of the flu. I was sick for a solid month. A friend of my brother’s, Dennis Hanovich, a saint, allowed me to stay in his guest room while I recovered.

After a few weeks, I couldn’t take it anymore. I’d been in the Big Apple for almost a month and had seen nothing of it other than the inside of Dennis’s guest room. What are you doing? I said to myself. Get up! Go out! Take a look at New York City! I dragged myself out of bed, pulled on my clothes, took the elevator to the ground floor, and walked out onto West End Avenue. I gasped. It was like a fairy tale, a WINTER WONDERLAND! The snow had been falling all day, and the city was wrapped in a blanket of white. Exhilarated, I decided to stroll a few blocks and enjoy this new adventure. But soon I thought better of it. You’re still sick. Be smart. Go back to bed.

As I turned to go back to the apartment, every light on West End Avenue went out. There was a complete blackout. It was so cold that at almost the same instant, one of my lenses popped out of my glasses. I looked for it, but with only one good eye, I couldn’t spot it in the snow and the total darkness. Removing one of my gloves, I began feeling for it, but I still couldn’t find it. So I took off the other glove and swept the snow with both hands, hoping one of my fingers would make contact with it. Nothing! Then I got down on my knees in the damp powder and frantically made angel wings in the snow with my hands. Nothing. At that very moment, a taxicab swept by, its tires sending a tidal wave of wet slush over my entire body. Now I was wet and sick and I wanted to go home. Feeling completely defeated, I thought, What am I doing here? I can’t make it in New York. I can’t even stay alive here! I looked up to the heavens, snowflakes dotting my face, and cried out, God! Should I go back to Houston? Give me a sign! And then my other lens popped out. Thanks, God. Thanks a lot, I said. But then a strange thing happened. A warm and wonderful feeling passed through me, and I knew what it was. Hypothermia! I was freezing to death. No! No, that wasn’t it at all. It was defiance! I whipped off my empty frames, threw them in the snow, and shouted to the indifferent world around me, You can’t beat me, New York! I’ll conquer you yet! I was certain of my path, and I would never give up.

My first apartment, a one-room studio on the ground floor, was on West 80th Street between Amsterdam and Broadway. It was right around the corner from Zabar’s, which was the only good thing about it. The bathroom was so small that the door, when open, hit the toilet, making it only possible to enter like a crab, sliding in sideways. I was able, with my savings, to equip my new digs with a secondhand bed, a tiny couch, and most important, a portable TV. The night after I bought it, I came home from a walk, opened the apartment door, and found the place completely bare. No bed, no couch, and most distressingly, no TV. Fortunately, the thieves found my clothes unacceptable. Those were the days of New York’s mean streets, and they were decidedly unfriendly to me. I was mugged a couple of times and I couldn’t get arrested in the theater.

The only acting job I had in that first year was as an impostor on the game show To Tell the Truth. I pretended to be a cabdriver from Denver who played trumpet requests for his customers. No one on the panel of celebrities voted for me; hence I made no money. But I did meet Nipsey Russell, so it wasn’t a total loss. And inspired by my cabdriving charade, I got my hack license. The requirements to drive a cab in New York in those days were pretty simple. There was a quiz in which you had to know eight very common locations such as Radio City Music Hall, Times Square, etc. Any tourist could ace this test. Before being rewarded with your license, however, one had to be checked out by a doctor in Queens. I was instructed to drop my trousers and underwear, turn my head, and cough while he cradled my cojones for what seemed like an inordinate amount of time. That was the extent of the examination.

Eventually, my luck began to turn. I landed a few small roles in off-Broadway productions. In time, the parts got bigger and better and I graduated to the occasional Broadway show. Most impressively, I played Aramis in the 1984 revival of Rudolf Friml’s operetta The Three Musketeers, which lasted a week and lost twelve million dollars. Though financially I was barely getting by, I didn’t care. I was a paid actor. Then the IRS summoned me to their offices. I hadn’t paid my taxes (what are taxes?) and I owed the government $4,000. Since I had nothing more than my last paycheck in the bank, about $700, I was certain a jail cell was in my future. And then providence raised its beautiful head. A relative of mine had died—not so fortunate for him, I guess—and had made me the beneficiary of an insurance policy that paid out exactly $4,000. Crazy how things sometimes work out. But I was still broke.

About this time, I got my first role in a film. I think it’s fair to call it a film. A cut-rate Italian company came to New York to make an American comedy titled Rent Control. The director had seen me in a play and was certain I was perfect for the lead role, a schnook who scoured the obituaries hoping to find a rent-controlled apartment previously occupied by someone who was recently deceased. Little by little I put together that this was a mob-financed venture. My salary checks were signed by an obstetrician in New Jersey. When the movie was completed, it played for a couple of days at the Waverly Theater in the Village to a combined audience of about six and a half people. The entire budget of the film was $100,000, but to the director’s credit, it looked like $200,000. Though it did nothing for my career, it did allow me to put some money in the bank. I was thirty-four and growing very weary of living like a teenager, so I decided, with this one questionable film credit, to give Hollywood a try. I scored a job as a replacement, playing Seymour Krelborn in the original West Coast production of Little Shop of Horrors, and said goodbye to New York. The show lasted only another three weeks, but it allowed me to secure an agent and, with luck and perseverance, find my way into guest-starring roles and TV movies.

And then Star Trek: The Next Generation happened. I auditioned for the role of the android Data six times. Apparently they weren’t sure I was the guy for the part, and frankly, I wasn’t sure I wanted to be tied down to a series. I was doing pretty well at this point and enjoying playing a variety of characters. But finally they offered me the role, and I figured what the hell, it couldn’t last more than a season and I could make some decent money. And the rest is history. My history, anyway. Immediately after I was hired, Gene Roddenberry, the creator of the show, said something to me I’ll never forget. Your life will never be the same. I had no idea what he meant at the time, but he couldn’t have been more correct. So many wonderful experiences began to unfold for me. I had a challenging role to grapple with, I was making a decent income, and I was working with some talented and wonderful people.

And then something truly unbelievable happened. Something I can describe only as a slapstick nightmare occurred in the fourth season of the show and gave Gene’s words a completely different context.

Everything I have written thus far is absolutely true. But the story I’m about to tell is not. In fact, having written the book and read it a few times, I’m not sure if any of it really happened. Maybe in a parallel universe?

ONE

PANDORA’S BOX

THE SECOND WORST part of my job is wearing makeup. The worst is taking it off. The only thing that will cut through my thick mask at the end of a sixteen-hour day is a kerosene-based product called Eliminate. In case you missed it, I said kerosene. I’ve doubtless swallowed at least a gallon of the stuff in an attempt to rid myself of every fleck of gold powder that has worked its way into the pores and orifices of my head. If anything is being eliminated, it’s several layers of skin and the well-being of a couple of internal organs, brain cells, and potentially essential fifteen-years-down-the-road sperm. But hey, the show must go on.

While I am going through my end-of-the-day ritual in the two-by-two bathroom of my trailer, which is the exact size of an airplane bathroom and just as comfortable, a knock comes at the open door, followed by the familiar voice of Mickey, the mailroom boy. Package for you, Mr. S.

Wiping the excess lighter fluid from my face with a never-again-to-be-used towel, my eyes burning thanks to the flesh-melting Eliminate, I stumble to the door. My trailer is one of a breed of what are called honeywagons, and a second-rate version at that, especially reserved for syndicated series. Originally designed in the early twentieth century for animal stars, they’re strictly utilitarian structures to say the least, though admittedly, they’re considerably nicer than my old apartment in New York. Mickey loiters outside the door holding a large cardboard box and wearing a ridiculous expression on his face. He stands just under five feet and has almost white-blond hair and skin the same color. If they ever start making vampire movies in this town again, this kid could be a star. Though he delivers the mail to nicer trailers than mine, he’s still a bit of a fan and usually genuflects when not carrying such a large package. I’m thankful that on this occasion the size of the carton prevents any such embarrassing display.

Gotta love those fans, Mr. S. This feels like something important … though I gotta say, it don’t smell very good, he says, taking a huge whiff.

I don’t care for the sound of that.

In the future, Mickey, I admonish him, if a package comes for me, and it doesn’t smell very good…

I know, he butts in, spray it with Right Guard before I bring it to you. That shit’ll take the stink outta anything. I ought to know.

Not wishing to pursue the matter, I swallow the rest of my sentence. Mickey takes the two steps up into my trailer, and as he crosses the threshold, the aroma hits me. It is so heinous, so revolting, it can be described only as a solid. It’s like getting a left hook to the olfactory nerve. There is something unmistakable about it. It is the smell of … evil. He plunks it down on the foldout table that doubles as office and dining room in my home away from home. I can’t actually get close enough to open it. The smell is like an invisible shield between me and the box.

Yeah, it’s kind of stinky, says Mickey.

I’m not sure what disturbs me more, the smell or the fact that he finds it kind of stinky. Getting woozy, I stagger outside, followed by Mickey.

Well, if you need anything I’ll be here till midnight, he says, reaching out to shake my hand.

Uh … Thanks, Mick, I say, and slip him a ten-dollar bill very carefully, so as not to touch the hand that held that vile box. Enjoy your evening. Full moon, you know.

It’s one of those Los Angeles nights when a marine layer covers the moon like Vaseline over a camera lens.

Oooh, yeah, he says, flashing a couple of pearly whites that could cut through an oil drum, my kinda night!

And he wolf-howls like Lon Chaney Jr.—I swear he does—before disappearing into the mist. Paramount Pictures in 1991 is lousy with nutty characters.

Deciding to take another shot at opening the box, I inhale a few deep breaths and start in. But my good sense coupled with the atrocious odor stops me cold.

What if there’s something alive in there? I say to myself.

I chew on that thought for a couple of seconds and then sprint next door to see if LeVar Burton is still in his trailer.

All of the cast on The Next Generation have become good friends in a very short time. Series work will do that. Or it will do the opposite. The long hours and repetitive work either forge lifelong mates or create bitter enemies. My relationship with LeVar was cemented by the birth of his daughter, Michaela. He showed up at my door not long after the blessed event with a jar containing the placenta, asking me to keep it in my freezer until he and his wife, Stephanie, moved into their new home. Apparently their own freezer was spiritually contaminated, as it was housing a few pounds of beef in various states of dissection. Their intention was to eventually bury the placenta in a hole along with a newly planted apple tree. And that’s exactly what they did. The last time I visited their house, I was delighted to see the tree had grown tall and strong, with apples that all looked curiously like Michaela’s head.

LeVar’s trailer is the antithesis of mine. It is filled with dozens of crystals and the intoxicating, unmistakable perfume of patchouli and lavender, mixed with the residue of Export ‘A’ cigarettes. I call it LeVaroma. The lavender, by the way, is reputed to keep evil spirits away, so I’m definitely in the right place. LeVar sits on his sofa with his legs tucked under him in a pretzel-like configuration. His eyes are closed and his breathing suggests some secret mantra running over and over through his mind. As much as I hate to disturb him, I figure that if he is in a transcendental state, he will surely forgive me.

Burt…

He told me once that Steve McQueen called him Burt when they made the movie The Hunter. He said I was like McQueen in that way. In every other way—well, not so much.

Burt … I know you’re in there somewhere. If you can hear me, I need your help.

He peels one eye open, then the other. He looks like a giant bird slowly coming to life. Very, very slowly, or so it feels to me. At last, after a long series of deep inhalations through his nose, he speaks.

Do you know where I keep my pistol? he says like a character in some other movie.

No. You have a pistol?

No, he whispers as an enigmatic smile crosses his face. The Mona Lisa has nothing on LeVar. What’s the problem?

"This is going to sound ridiculous, but there’s a box … do you really have a

Reviews for Fan Fiction

[sharonmariabidwell · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Apparently fiction despite the ‘men-noir’ line on the front suggesting otherwise. What strikes the reader is Spiner’s ability to poke fun at himself as well as his co-workers/friends, though never meanly. Ultimately, the book seems to be about the dividing line between actor and character, and a person and fandom. Enjoyable and unexpected.

[gwendydd · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

This is lots of fun! It's written as a memoir. Brent Spiner starts to receive threatening mail from a fan who goes by the name of Lal (after Data's "daughter" in one episode of Star Trek). A femme fatale FBI agent and her femme fatale twin sister bodyguard help him survive while they track down the culprit.This has just enough truth in it to make it hard to figure out where reality ends and the story begins. It's very silly and fun.I listened to the audiobook, which is actually a full-cast audio drama with sound effects and a surprising number of Star Trek cast members, including Jonathan Frakes and Patrick Stewart.

[glennis.leblanc · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

This is a humorous take inspired by real events in Brent Spiner’s life while he was shooting Star Trek: TNG. I wasn’t going to bother with grabbing the ARC but someone I follow on social media said it was really funny, so I decided to give it a shot. Brent is being stalked by a fan obsessed with him and calling herself Lal after an episode that data creates a daughter for himself by that name. Everyone you meet in the book seems to be over the top, his costars, staff on the set, and law enforcement. Brent is not spared this either with his reactions to the letters and the constant bad dream flashbacks he has that combine the current events with his troubled childhood. The mystery is solved in the end and over the top as the rest of the book. For me personally the humor was way over the top and I got a bit tired of it by the end of the book. Maybe if I hadn’t read most of it in one sitting it wouldn’t have felt that way to me. But each to their own and I can see where lots of people would enjoy this more than I did.


Digital review copy provided by the publisher through Edelweiss

[jenson_aka_dl · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

I've been a life long fan of Star Trek, starting with the original series, but TNG has always been my favorite. So, when I saw that Brent Spiner was publishing a book I was certainly curious. I enjoyed the book, which is by his admission, a mixture of fact and fiction. Sometimes it was a little hard to tell what was what (did Michael Dorn actually perform Heimlich on a dog during a dinner party? I'd be curious to know...fact or fiction). It was kind of cute, never boring, certainly a fast read, and I enjoyed it. I liked that he mixed some of his cast mates and others into the story. My impression of Mr. Spiner when I saw him interviewed for this book ("Josh Gates Tonight") was that he seemed a little snooty. But, after reading the book I feel like maybe he just has a hard time being himself on camera without a script. Overall, I was waivering between 3.5 and 4 stars. Mainly while I was reading the bulk of the story, I was verging more towards 3 land, but the ending really got me so I'm giving it a solid 4 stars. Good Show, Mr. Data!

[aliceap-1 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

A completely unique reading experience. I picked this book up because I absolutely adore Brent Spiner. I think he's an absolute hoot and a half. (Check out his Twitter. You won't regret it.) Also, the idea of a mem-noir (is this a new idea because if so he's a genius) with a title like Fan Fiction intrigued me. The prologue starts out like any memoir with backstory on the author's childhood and his burgeoning career as an actor. The end of that prologue concludes by saying that the remainder of the novel is not true. What?! Now I want to say that at times I found parts of this story completely believable and I do think there was more than a ring of truth in the people we meet (his acting friends from ST:TNG being among them) and the situations they find themselves in (like fan conventions or dinners at Gene Roddenberry's house). But the storyline of the stalker fan was a complete fabrication and thankfully reads like it. The story takes place during the heyday of The Next Generation and includes twin badass ladies (one FBI and the other a bodyguard) who both happen to be hot for our author, an escaped mental patient, a detective who wants to be a screenwriter, and an obsessed wife who believes that she's engaged in a sexy phone relationship with Spiner. It's WILD, ya'll. I gave it 3 stars not because I didn't enjoy it but because I thought the writing was somewhat stilted at times. I read someone else's review where they compared it to the writing of a debut novelist and I agree. I think that with more ventures into writing it will only get better so the 3 is more of my belief that he can only go up from here.

[kevn57-163679 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

3 1/2 stars
This was a fast funny read, and had me wondering just how much of this stuff really happened. Data was also one of my favorite characters which inspired me to read the book in the first place. The scene in the cemetery was also very touching. I feel like the fans about how much Gene Roddenberry has meant to me since the mid 1960s.

“Johnny, try to be cool, but take a look behind you at the table in the corner.”

“Wow, I love Gregory Peck.”

“Yeah, me too. He’s one of my favorites. I think I should go over there and tell him how much he’s meant to me.”

“Don’t. He’s obviously enjoying a quiet dinner with his wife. Didn’t you just tell me to be cool?”

He’s right. But I can’t take my eyes off him. A couple of minutes later Peck excuses himself and disappears into the men’s room.

“Ooh, I drank too much coffee at work today,” I use as an excuse. “I’ll be right back.”

When I sidle up to the urinal next to Peck, he’s just shaking off the last few drops from his member and zipping up. I look over to him and the stupidest words possible come out of my grinning face.

“Nice shake,” I say, referring to the earthquake we just shared.

He obviously misinterprets my meaning, and a look of horror and disgust furrows his granite brow. Rapidly washing his hands, he rushes past me and out the door.

Later...
“Excuse me, Mr. Peck. I’m so sorry, but I feel it necessary to explain. In the men’s room when I said shake, I was talking about the earthquake, not your … your…” I say, gesturing at his fly.

“Young man,” he interrupts, “I’d like to have a nice private evening with my wife, if you don’t mind.”

“No, no, please, I totally understand. I’m an actor, too. It happens to me all the time!”

He narrows his eyes, gives me one last once-over, without the least glimmer of recognition, hops into his Jag, and speeds away.

[cherylk_44 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

I grew up watching Star Trek. I can remember sharing a bowl of popcorn with my Dad and watching Star Trek on the couch together. I do consider myself to be a "trekkie". Thus I was very intrigued to read this book. As I was reading this, I could not get the image of Data out of my head. It was like Data was reading and at times Brent would pop in and interject himself. I have read many memoirs and can find some of them to be a bit on the "dry" side with just facts. Yet, I liked this take on a memoir. It did read like an bizarre episode of Star Trek if Data had to solve a mystery. There were many times I found myself laughing and in shock at just how extreme "fandom" really can become. Fans of Star Trek may want to pick up a copy to read for themselves.

[liscarey · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

This is a somewhat noir fictional memoir about Brent Spiner's time playing Data on Star Trek: The Next Generation, and an experience with an off-balance fan turned stalker.Spiraner portrays himself as still rather naif and not fully aware what a fan favorite Data has become. One morning in his trailer on the lot, he's reading fan mail, and he gets a disturbing piece of mail. This one is a box, and its odor is soon explained by the fact that it contains a pig's penis. An actual pig's penis.It is, allegedly, from Lal, the "daughter" Data made in the third-season episode, "The Offspring." Lal didn't survive the episode, and now "Lal" wants her daddy, Data, to join her...in death?It's the start of a series of disturbing letters and incidents. Along the way, Spiner connects with a police detective who turns out to be more interested in getting his break as a Hollywood script writer, an FBI agent, and the FBI agent's twin sister who is a professional bodyguard. There's a pizza delivery guy, a guest actor on the latest episode, and people who might or might not be the potentially dangerous "Lal."It's a mix of dark and scary, and hilarious. I won't say it's a great work of noir fiction, or of funny noir, but it is pretty good. And with narration mainly by Spiner, and with his bridge crew fellow actors (Patrick Stewart, Jonathan Frakes, LeVar Burton, Gates McFadden, Marina Sirtis, and Michael Dorn, as well as others, joining in to read their parts, it's well-performed and very entertaining.A fun, light listen.I bought this audiobook.

[muddyboy · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

The book cover describes this as a Mem-Noir inspired by actual events. I'm not quite sure what that actually means but what we have here is a book about the man who portrays Data in the Star Trek series. Data is an android who creates a daughter Lal who he kills in the series. So Spiner (the author and actor) gets a plethora of threatening letters saying he will be killed signed "Lal". To untangle these threats on his life there are identical twins Cindy, an FBI agent and Candy who becomes Spiner's bodyguard. A pretty entertaining tongue in cheek mystery.

[capewood · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

T/FB: 2021 book #75. 2021. A fictional account of Bret Spiner (Data from Star Trek: The Next Generation) being staked by a deranged fan in 1990. Despite the heavy premise, it was meant to be comical. Some laughs but Spiner is a better actor than a writer. Enjoyable for this Trek fan.

[darthdeverell · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Brent Spiner’s novel, Fan-Fiction: A Mem-Noir: Inspired by True Events, draws inspiration from his experience portraying Lt. Commander Data on Star Trek: The Next Generation and how such a high-profile role attracts a great deal of fan attention, not all of it good. He fictionalizes his life to discuss a fan becoming obsessed with him and casting themselves as Data’s daughter Lal from the third season episode, “The Offspring.” They begin sending Spiner increasingly-threatening notes, driving him to paranoia and triggering an investigation involving Paramount security, the local police, and even the FBI. Spiner’s dry tone throughout recalls the style of Raymond Chandler’s novels, such as The Big Sleep, with a deftness of humor and humanity evocative of Michael Chabon. He blends fact and fiction in such a way that one cannot help but feel it accurately represents Hollywood in the ’90s, with all the personalities inhabiting it and those attracted to it. Funny in just the right ways, Spiner’s story has a perfectly cinematic quality to it that will delight fans of his work and those looking for something a little more idiosyncratic to read.

[hcnewton · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

WHAT'S FAN FICTION ABOUT?During the filming of Season 4 of Star Trek: The Next Generation, Brent Spiner starts receiving threatening (and disturbing) packages and letters delivered to his trailer. They're purportedly from "Lal" (Data's daughter from episode 3.16 "The Offspring").Those aren't the only interesting letters he's receiving, there are also a series of letters from someone claiming to speak to Spiner on the phone at night while her husband is out of town on business. These conversations are apparently quite graphic and sexual in nature, while the letters that are in response to them are very benign, and maybe a little tragic.Spiner gets help from the LAPD, the FBI, a personal bodyguard, and fictionalized versions of his ST:TNG costars as the threats increase in intensity. This assistance bounces from comical to incredibly effective, while Spiner's worry and stress (and increasing lack of sleep) start to spiral out of control and his grasp on sanity starts to slip.FAN CONNECTIONWhen it comes to his stalker, the late-night phone call recipient, a law enforcement officer/would-be-TV-writer, a pizza delivery man—and a few others, the relationship between fan and performer is clearly unhealthy.But throughout there is a thread of meaningful connections being made through Spiner's performance to the audience. There were a couple of really sweet moments we see because of this—in the midst of the satiric madness, they really ground the work and help you remember that Spiner was more than someone suffering from a sleep-deprived paranoia.I'M LIKELY TO BE THE ONLY ONE BOTHERED BY THIS, BUT...We spend a lot of time with ST:TNG and have references to other parts of Spiner's career before that, but not one single nod to Bob Wheeler?That's the role that made me a fan of Spiner—probably would've found another 1/2 Star or so if there'd been a quality joke about him.SO, WHAT DID I THINK ABOUT FAN FICTION?I don't remember the last time I had this much fun reading a book—it was just a blast. I laughed and/or chuckled frequently, cringed a couple of times (in a good way), and couldn't turn the pages fast enough.That starts with the characters: Spiner's antics and reactions to his situation were great. The comically-exaggerated versions of the ST:TNG cast were fantastic—I wouldn't mind reading a series of Spiner's adventures just to see those again. The Bodyguard and FBI officer rounded out the cast of characters in an entertaining way that also provided the lethal abilities required to keep Spiner alive in the face of the threat.The stalker's actions in other settings would be hair-raising and chilling—but given the comic tone, they become ridiculous. And you can't wait to see what extreme "Lal" will go to next.Spiner's humanity (depicted as very flawed) shines through in the midst of the madness. When that's combined with the heartwarming fan connections, they make this surprisingly sweet as much as it is comically dark. All in all, a real winner.Fans of Star Trek or Hollywood satires need to get their hands on it.

[huberk-1 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

5 stars, Real, or not?FAN FICTION by Brent SpinerSt. Martin's PressBrent Spiner has a problem, several fans are in love with him or his character Data from Star Trek; The Next Generation. This is a fictional, humorous version of what may or may not have happened with his obsessed fans.It reads as believable, you can imagine things really happening just as he portrays them. There is a nice tie-in to TNG, for all of the Trekkie fans out there. Several of his co-stars from the show have made it into the book, as well. It would have made itself more endearing if the book had been non-fiction, instead of fiction, at least, to me.I don't consider myself a Trekkie, that being said, we do own the entire series of Star Trek: TNG, on DVD. Hubby & I watch an episode, almost every day, (we've done this for years) since we like the series so much. Of course, since the author is Data on the cast of TNG, I wanted to see what his book was about.Much appreciation to @StMartinsPress #StMartinsPress @BrentSpiner @BrentJSpiner #BrentSpiner for the complimentary copy of #FanFiction I was under no obligation to post a review.

[ronrose1 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Fan Fiction by Brent Spiner is a strange, comic mix of fact and fiction. It is Brent’s homage to his well meaning fans as well as a slap at the fanatics. This wild ride reads like a book written by Data on overload. Well, perhaps it was. Brent blends facts and fiction much as many of his fans. This madcap trip provides a satisfying glimpse into the darker side of Hollywood stardom through the eyes of young man who seems to lose control of his own life, as for millions of fans he takes on the role of a fictional character. This quizzical, thoroughly enjoyable romp was provided by St. Martin’s Press for review.

[nancyadair-1 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

When I was fourteen I decided it was time to give up my addiction and turn my life around.I committed to giving up television.I was a TV addict. I started with Romper Room and Howdy Doody and went on to the Mickey Mouse Club and Sky King and Lassie. By the time I was nine, Twilight Zone was my can’t miss show. I watched Alfred Hitchcock Presents and The Man From Uncle. When I turned eleven I discovered classic movies on Bill Kennedy Showtime.I needed an intervention. I gave up the sitcoms I watched with my little brother, with witches and genies and prison camps with inept Nazis. I gave up the late night movies with Mom. But one thing I did not give up was a new television show called Star Trek.Yes, I am a Trekkie. I watched Star Trek with my mom. I watched all the subsequent Star Trek series, including the new ones on cable, and all the movies. My husband is a Trekkie. My son was raised a Trekkie. (Somewhere, stored in the basement is his Data figurine, along with the rest of the crew.)How could I resist reading Fan Fiction by Brent Spiner, who played the android Data in Star Trek: The Next Generation? It is set in 1989 during the production of the series.It is hilarious. It is an insider’s look at fame. It features the Star Trek actors. It’s a mystery.I enjoy dipping into a book that is pure entertainment in between heavier reads. This one had me laughing constantly. What more could I ask for? We don’t know what is fact and what is fictionalized for zany comedy, but a few things struck me as honest.About the cast of TNG, Spiner writes, “The long hours and repetitive work either forge lifelong mates or create bitter enemies.” Spiner makes it clear that the cast had great friendships.The ordeal of turning “a Texas Jew into an android from Omicron Theta” involved lots of gold makeup that wrecked havoc on his skin and floated onto the contacts and obscured his vision.“Most of my family has been a part of the [family] business,” he explains, but he “was much more attracted to being a starving actor and facing a daily wall of rejection.”The novel is a humorous retelling of his early career and life on TNG, with the ‘noir’ of the ‘mem-noir’ being central to the plot. Spiner receives death threats from someone who calls herself his daughter Lal, based on one of the episodes where Data creates an android daughter. He enlists the help of Cindy Lou, a detective, and her twin sister Candy as his hired protection. This turns into a complicated romantic triangle. Suspects include a fan who believes is making racy calls to her.After the killer is identified and Spiner’s life returns to normal, he concludes that the episode has made him a better person and a better actor. “I’ve come to understand so much about the fear that has dominated my life,” he writes, and he advises letting our fears go and to live your life. His step-father was harsh and punitive, the foundation of his fear. Then, the deranged fan mail from Lal sent him into isolation, anticipating threats everywhere he went.It’s good advice. Sure, we are going to die and there are forces and people out there who threaten us. But living in fear is not really living.I received a free egalley from the publisher through NetGalley. My review is fair and unbiased.

[mzonderm · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Was Brent Spiner the target of a stalker who sent him threatening notes signed by his fictional character's fictional daugter Lal? He might have been. Did that result in an entanglement with an FBI agent and her personal-security-guard twin sister and all the other dramatic events that follow as he writes in this book? Probably not. Spiner isn't telling which parts of this book are "mem" and which are "noir," but no matter where the the line is, he's written a fun, madcap story.The book will, of course, appeal mostly to Star Trek fans, which is not to say that it won't appeal to people who don't identify as Star Trek fans too (except, perhaps, the ST:TNG name-dropping). Fans will be pleased to see that Spiner's writing chops are almost as strong as his acting chops, and non-fans will enjoy a zany mystery with a true noir feel.

[bibliovermis · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

This book was ridiculous, zany, and a riotous good time. Taking place in the in the 1991 heyday of the filming of Star Trek: The Next Generation, it blurs the line between truth and fiction, combining completely outlandish noir tropes and events (sexy mystery twins!) with possible, but too-dramatic-to-be-believed situations (gun play! multiple, competing stalkers!), hilarious statements from and "facts" about Spiner's fellow Star Trek castmates, and true details about the year's events, the work of making a TV show, and Spiner's life and childhood. It's faithful to the noir and mystery genres while being very, very funny.