I was a reader then a reader and reviewer here in fanfiction. But I've always written. I have dozens of unfinished stories and outlines. My college roommate and I were going to write a series of Harlequin Novels based on an acapella group at a university after they left and grew up... Yeah. We plotted them out on the drive from Los Angeles to Stanford every vacation.
I'm writing because of Annie. She kept encouraging me. All those Crookshanks drabbles? Yeah.
I was writing for me for the most part. I made friends here, and it was a big part of keeping sane and not depressed. But some people liked my writing.
This is interesting because today I had two different reviewers, those who had not reviewed before (I was offering a drabble and it got people to answer me) tell me that they were giving me a very broad prompt because they really liked my writing. I felt validated.
Yes, there is a crash. Maybe it is a lot like post-partum depression. This big thing you were creating and is part of you is gone, out there for the word to judge.
I have found that I like reading my reviews... but they don't matter to me as much as I thought. I am pleased that people like what I write, but I don't know that my identity is tied up in it.
The stories that shine for me? They have something unique to offer, their characters grow even if it is completely against canon. (I love redeeming those Slytherins). As for published fiction, again it has to draw me in. Recently I read the Hunger Games Trilogy and was in one of those "reading, don't talk to me" modes. I haven't done that in a while.
I like to see someone's take on an idea, whether it is dystopia, Marriage Law, etc. I prefer a happy or hopeful ending, because life is difficult enough.
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Date: 2011-08-29 05:10 am (UTC)I'm writing because of Annie. She kept encouraging me. All those Crookshanks drabbles? Yeah.
I was writing for me for the most part. I made friends here, and it was a big part of keeping sane and not depressed. But some people liked my writing.
This is interesting because today I had two different reviewers, those who had not reviewed before (I was offering a drabble and it got people to answer me) tell me that they were giving me a very broad prompt because they really liked my writing. I felt validated.
Yes, there is a crash. Maybe it is a lot like post-partum depression. This big thing you were creating and is part of you is gone, out there for the word to judge.
I have found that I like reading my reviews... but they don't matter to me as much as I thought. I am pleased that people like what I write, but I don't know that my identity is tied up in it.
The stories that shine for me? They have something unique to offer, their characters grow even if it is completely against canon. (I love redeeming those Slytherins). As for published fiction, again it has to draw me in. Recently I read the Hunger Games Trilogy and was in one of those "reading, don't talk to me" modes. I haven't done that in a while.
I like to see someone's take on an idea, whether it is dystopia, Marriage Law, etc. I prefer a happy or hopeful ending, because life is difficult enough.