Last night, over at The Organizer’s house, we had the following conversation after an episode of Torchwood:
The Organizer: We really should finish that Doctor Who/LOST fic.
Robin G: No. I’ve quit fanfiction. It is a hollow pursuit.
The Organizer: But it was funny.
Robin G: No.
The Organizer: We just need to figure out how to end it.
Robin G: No.
The Wookiee: You could just have the Daleks kill everyone you don’t like and move on.
The Organizer: Yes!
Robin G: No.
And then I woke up this morning with plot threads in my head about how Sayid could dismantle one of the Daleks and use it to make a new generator for the TARDIS and Captain Jack would try to nail Sawyer and, and, and… ARGH.
Fanfiction is a horrible pursuit. I spent a lot of years writing fic for multiple fandoms and you know what happened? Muse anarchy. Fanfiction is fun, but it’s cheap praise. If you can string a few sentences together without a major misspelling, you’ll have ten fangirls clamoring for more. It feels great. You have fans! You’re a writer!
Except… well, not so much.
Don’t misunderstand me. I’m not one of those people who think that fanfiction is easy. Good fanfic is actually really, really hard — taking someone else’s characters, understanding their inner workings enough to see what makes them tick, and putting them into your own words and own situations without making them into entirely new people who just happen to have the same names as the originals? It takes work, and it takes skill. It’s extremely useful when you need to flex your characterization muscles. And don’t get me wrong, the fangirls are extremely gratifying (especially when they leave good, long reviews that show they got what you were doing — it means they’re smart, and when smart people like your work, you can’t help but get the warm fuzzies).
No, the problem is the Cheeto factor. Fanfic takes the edge off your writing hunger, but doesn’t satisfy you. After awhile, you realize that even though your PWP AU slash fic is four hundred pages long, you haven’t written anything original in two years. And you can’t publish your PWP AU slash fic. Work on it for another year, though, and you’ll start to think you can publish it, that it’s really real work and that people other than fangirls will surely see that, too. Then your friends start to back away slowly. (The Astronomer can attest to this.)
So, no more fanfic. I am not restarting the Doctor Who/LOST fic.
Even if it is really cute.
Martha glanced around the jungle and patted her pineapple hair. “Okay, I get it! I need a more workable hairstyle! You didn’t have to bring me to someplace with 100% humidity; a bottle of gel would have made the point.”
The Doctor grinned. “What’s wrong with the jungle? Cradle of life, hundreds of thousands of unique species all spilling over one another in a quest for survival on each tiny acre–”
“You didn’t mean to bring us here, did you.”
“Ah. Not as such, no.”
“And what are we supposed to be looking for to use as fuel?”
“I don’t know! We’ll just have to be creative!” the Doctor said in the exact same tones he would have used to describe an opportunity to eat ice cream and frolic with puppies.
“Right.” Martha peeled off her jacket and tossed it into the Tardis; the Doctor, on the other hand, seemed incapable of overheating, regardless of the circumstances. “What happened to Jack?”
“Good question. Jack?” he called.
“What?” A confused-looking man with an unattractive nose said, walking around from the other side of the Tardis.
Martha blinked. “Who are you?”
“I’m Jack,” he replied, staring at the Tardis. “What the hell is this?”
“No, you’re not.”
“Yes, I am.”
“You’re Jack.”
“Yes,” he snapped.
“Captain Jack.”
“No, Selfless Leader Jack.”
“Oh, I see,” said the Doctor in tones of great understanding, dismissing him and addressing Martha. “Wrong Jack. Not a problem, just need to find the right one.”
Wrong Jack frowned at them in a manner that suggested he was not used to people turning away from him. “And who are you?”
“I’m the Doctor. And this is Martha Jones.”
“No, I’m the Doctor,” Wrong Jack said petulantly.
Martha blinked. “I thought you were Selfless Leader.”
“Well, yeah, but I’m also the Doctor.”
The Doctor was already wandering away. “Nope, I’m the Doctor. You’ll just have to be something else. So, where are we?”
Okay, working on something else now. Really.
…I’ve been fruitlessly waiting (*patiently* waiting, I might add) for a continuation of Tequila Worms, to no avail?
Well, then.
While you have been very patient over the, er, decade since the last update… yeah, no. Sorry.
Unless you write more smut in line with “A Toast”. We could arrange a trade.