I have been poking away this week on a hockey rpf fic that will probably not see the light of day, not unlike the several hundred other stories I've started and not posted or finished in the last several years.  I have been hesitating over thinking too much about where the hesitation to post is coming from, other than that I disconnected myself a lot from fandom and now am having a hard time even keeping my toes in the water.  Maybe I'm worried about too much of a good thing-- or maybe the opposite.  I actually deleted a fic for the first time after continuing to get wank-filled comments from Steve Rogers stans who were hyperventilating about my refusal to accept Our Lord and Savior, Captain America--  I didn't have the interest in finishing the story after all the hate I was getting on my tumblr for daring to reblog content about Tony Stark.  (Not about Steve Rogers, or anti-anyone.  Just, merely about Tony Stark.)  

I sort of wish that I felt compelled to write Wonder Woman (2017) fic, or something in Mad Max: Fury Road, or even to continue on from the one story I started in The Martian fandom... but I think I'm mostly just content to reblog fanart and picspam and write a bit of meta in Wonder Woman tumblr about what a great story it is.  I have no fic ideas, or no prolonged ones-- I think in large part because I feel like there are no "gaps" in the stories as told on screen.   There are no significant plot holes, underdeveloped characters, or dissatisfying endings that I feel compelled to fix, and it's interesting to decide that that's why I write.  

MMFR generated a lot of wonderful stories, and so did The Martian.  I haven't stepped foot in any of the WW fic tags, and haven't been curious to. I guess I don't want to spoil the enjoyment of the movies qua movies because I was so thrilled walking away from them on first viewing that I don't want to go back and purposefully run a critical eye over things to try to find problems I'd then want to write about to fix.  All three movies have wonderful, wonderful world-building, though, and I am very happy for the people for whom those stories have created a playground to write next chapters or what-ifs.  For my part, though, I don't want to poke at the canon too hard.  

I even haven't gone back and watched Star Trek Beyond-- it was so very good, compared to Into Darkness and even the first movie that I don't want to find out I was wearing rosy-colored goggles and missed some real problems; which made me realize that not long ago I was recommending two books ("A Country Year," Sue Hubbell, and "A Month in the Country," J.L. Carr) to someone going through her own divorce/midlife crisis-- but I also haven't reread those books since the first time I read them and they saved my life. 

I probably should talk about this with my therapist, hmm?  Being afraid to make things up on my own, or re-embrace something important and meaningful because I am afraid I will just mess it up again?  Urgh, fandom, this is why you're a problem.  You make me think too much.

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The New York Times posted this Op-Ed piece about Star Trek’s 50th today and how, essentially, the franchise has become too corporate and it’s all spoilt because it’s not low-budget and fly-by-the-seat-of-its-pants anymore.

As I read the piece, all I could hear were the sounds of whiny Comic Book Guys everywhere complaining that no one was allowed to enjoy anything new anymore because it had changed over time, adapted, survived, and as all things do, evolved into something that other people than the “Original” fans could also enjoy.  (TL:DR, this op-ed is the sound of one fanboy fapping about kids on their lawn.)

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If you’ve followed me at all for any period of time, you know I used to blog pretty often, and then I got into fanfic, and wrote a lot of that, too.  Whether or not I was any good at any of that-- the personal blogging, the fic writing-- is another question.  The fact was, I wrote.

For a while, it felt good.  I had online people who read and commented, who agreed or sympathized with things that I said.  I even met some of those folks in real life, and they were all terrific in their own, separate ways.  When I wrote fictional stories, people liked them.  They thought I was funny, or poignant, or smart.  And I met some of those folks, too, in real life, and they were also terrific in their own, separate ways.

At a certain point, though, I stopped.  Stopped personal blogging.  Stopped fiction writing.  Stopped.

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