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I found a story of mine plagiarized on an Indian website. "At least someone thought your story was good enough to steal" was the reaction of an unnamed person who will have to get his own dinner tonight. Having your work stolen is not a compliment. That's what plagiarism is--theft. It's stealing someone else's words and presenting them as your own. Changing the names of the characters doesn't count, although it was interesting to see my story with Indian names. But not interesting enough to make it okay.
Here's part of "The Neighbour":
Chapter four , scene 3
If Arjun had been wearing a shirt, Arohi would have been the victor in their latest encounter.
But he hadn't been wearing a shirt and when he'd raised his arm and leaned against the doorjamb, he could have been Angad posing for his "sexiest man" picture.In fact, when faced with so much male in the flesh, as it were, Arohi couldn't remember exactly what Angad looked like, which was another thing to be angry abt and which reminded her tht bcoz of Arjun, she'd lost her chance to see Angad in any kind of flesh, er, see him perform. Hear him perform.With his violin.
Anyway, she'd been flustered was all she was prepared to admit. She'd wanted to make Arohi feel bad or express remorse. Considerably more than the lukewarm apology he'd offered.
Obviously, he'd just climbed out of bed.He had no shame. None.And she was serious about him changing apartments, preferably moving out of the complex, but she'd settle for out of hearing range and hope for out of sight, as well. The sight of Arjun shirtless had had more of an effect on her than she liked to admit, even to herself.
If Mick had been wearing a shirt, Erin would have been the victor in their latest encounter.
But he hadn't been wearing a shirt and when he'd raised his arm and leaned against the doorjamb, he could have been Antonio Zamora posing for his "sexiest man" picture.
In fact, when faced with so much male in the flesh, as it were, Erin couldn't remember exactly what Antonio Zamora looked like, which was another thing to be angry about and which reminded her that because of Mick, she'd lost her chance to see Antonio Zamora in any kind of flesh…er, see him perform. Hear him perform. With his violin.
Anyway, she'd been…flustered was all she was prepared to admit. She'd wanted to make Mick feel bad or express remorse. Considerably more than the lukewarm apology he'd offered.
Obviously, he'd just climbed out of bed.
He had no shame. None.
And she was serious about him changing apartments — preferably moving out of the complex, but she'd settle for out of hearing range and hope for out of sight, as well. The sight of Mick shirtless had had more of an effect on her than she liked to admit, even to herself.
The person who posted the story didn't think she was doing anything wrong in taking my work, changing the title and character names, and claiming that it was now hers. But it is wrong. And it always will be.
