In February 2014, I was attempting to assuage the withdrawal symptoms from missing my favorite show, BBC's Sherlock. I got clued in to fanfiction by my sister, and my world exploded. Here I was, staring at a website FULL of hundreds, thousands of people who loved what I did, and expressed their love in a myriad of ways....some with skill, most not so much.
I struggled through the badly written ones, the ones written as porn and without a thought to plot, the ones full of angst and misery and not a touch of joy; I read dozens of fanfics, and while my Sherlock addiction was being moderately sated, I was growing heartily discontent with what I was reading. Nothing was satisfying that itch, that place in me that loved the show so damn much. ( I was severely depressed, I realize now that I was clinging so hard to the show as it was one of the few things in my life that made me happy, so I was obsessed for survival's sake.)
I had an epiphany. After closing a story in disgust, amazed at the total and complete lack of decent writing, spelling, etc., I said to myself, "I can do better than this."
Seriously, it felt I was in the middle of an explosion. I sat there at my computer, blinking, and I told myself, "Why the fuck not?" I opened a Word doc, thought about what I wanted to see and feel and read when it came to my fav show, and started to type.
I can say now, nearly a year later...I sucked. So long out of practice when it came to writing, my first few attempts were deleted in shame and frustration. Where was the talent that had my teachers and family calling me a genius? Surely I was the same person, just a decade removed. Talent can't die, can it?
It can't die, but it can suffer from atrophy. And my talent was this tiny little muscle, hiding under disuse and laziness. I had to grab it kicking and screaming from out under years of abuse and neglect, and slowly feed it until I regained some semblance of confidence. Not entirely successful, but I'm getting better.
Long story short, I'm writing again. I'm remembering who I was, who I wanted to be. And on the way, I managed to write a massive Sherlock fanfiction that's still a work in progress, even 530,000 words later. I'm not done with it yet. had to slow done some, as my novels and short stories need more of my attention now. I plan on leaving the story Complete after I blast everyone else out of the water with the longest, most in-depth Ode to Doyle I can.
If anyone is curious, go to Fanfiction.net, look up a Sherlock fic by the author Revella. Called "Forever Yours, Sherlock". That's me, by the way. Not really a secret, but this is the first time I've revealed who I am in any kind of public fashion. I have some stalkers on ff.net, and I delete some weird comments every time I post.
Forgive the first dozen chapters, as I had no clue what I was doing. My fanfiction serves as my training wheels, a means to find my way back, and the path forward to the type of talent I want to be.
And it is a delightful excuse to write as much m/m loving as I want.