This article is about fanfiction.
I got into it in high school, wrote a lot for Young Justice, and then fell out of it when the show was canceled. I deleted all my works off FFnet, changed the username, and scrambled the password.
Fast-forward to summer of 2015. I had just got my wisdom teeth out, and in my drug induced state I watched the entirety of The 100 on Netflix (the first two seasons). But thanks to the abundance of free time I had, I finished very quickly. And what else was I to do? I still had stitches in my mouth, I couldn’t eat solid food, and I barely wanted to move.
So I went back onto Tumblr, followed a bunch of blogs, and through that found AO3. I was reading a lot like I used too.
In 2014, I read 96 published books total, the most I have ever. Since starting to read fanfiction again, I have read, oh god, probably ten? But I was still reading: I followed a bunch of authors, squealed when they updated, would read always before bed, at work, in class-
Once I was able to think properly and without constant pain in my mouth, I actually… I made an AO3 account, and I posted a fic. I uploaded a few old ones that were originally on FFnet that I found on my computer, but I wrote new fic, I wrote new stories.
Since then, I have wrote over 100k words on AO3. I’ve read probably ten times more than that.
When season 3 ended, I was writing less. By the one year anniversary of my resurgence into fandom and fanfiction, I had stopped writing altogether.
I had stopped reading, altogether.
Was it just because it was the hiatus? Was it because the same characters in different situations had started to bore me? Was it just my depression talking? Was it the new medication I was on for my depression?
But as time went on, I realized that it was just me. I had built up fic in such a way that I just couldn’t take it anymore. I had put so much pressure on myself to write and to update; I even put so much pressure on myself to read and comment – I know that an author would just be fine with “I loved this!” but that wasn’t something that my mind could process.
I read some, but it felt more like a chore. I wouldn’t even read some of my best friend’s fic, because I wanted to save them for when I was more engaged, more excited, but that time never came. I still read now again, from time to time, mostly in a different fandom, and mostly when I can’t sleep. There’s so many updates just sitting in my inbox, unread, with no desire to be read.
It’s reading in general though that I’ve dipped out of, because I have not read any books that weren’t for school since this change.
And writing? That’s even worse. I haven’t wrote anything since August, and I only did that because I thought I HAD to. I was going on a roadtrip, I should write a roadtrip fic! I kept turning my experiences into fic, shaping the events of my life into something that wasn’t necessarily for me.
I turned this fun hobby into a chore, into a job, into a source of soul-crushing stress.
But hey, maybe all this is just because The 100 is on hiatus, maybe when the season 4 trailer comes out, or when the season premieres, I’ll just have to write about it. I’ll express my hopes and ideas for the season in the most creative way possible.
But I feel like that is unlikely, at least for the writing.
And I miss reading my friend’s stories, their words never failed to move me in some way. But I just can’t, the reason is unclear, but I’m pretty satisfied with it.
Even my fandom presence in general has fallen out, my Tumblr activity page being sporadic and inconsistent.
There’s that saying that if you love your job that you’ll never work a day in your life. Well, I didn’t love my “job,” which was writing and reading/commenting on fanfiction. I had turned it into a chore, an unnecessary source of stress.
So maybe falling out of love with it was a good thing. Maybe it’s just a temporary thing.
Hey, if you love something set it free right? And if it doesn’t come back, it was never yours? Or some shit like that.
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