You know, I wrote a fanfiction novella once. About five years ago. It was written under a pseudonym that will die with me. It was 35,000 words, in 34 mini-chapters, based on characters from one of my all-time favorite video games, and it was CORNY! But it was a story. People read it and liked it. There are 185 comments, mostly teenage girls I assume, and they all write how wonderful it is, and how I should write stories for a living.
Usually once a year, I’ll have the inclination to check up on it again, and I did just this morning. There were about a dozen new comments since I checked last, even though the story is long since buried way down in the queue of about 4000 other fanficitons. He he, I have fans 🙂
Yes, I get a great deal of stupid amusement from that.
And yes, I should write and publish something for real. But it’s so much easier to put something out there for an audience of easily-pleased 15 year-olds. When your name isn’t on it. When you don’t know or care if anyone will ever read it, but then you find that they do.