You're not an idiot at all, IMO--I think it's a question of what you want to get out of writing. It sounds like fanfic satisfies that for you.

connie, your mileage will definitely vary. I don't write - fiction, fanfic or anything else - because I want or need the excitement. I write whatever happens to come out because it wants to come out. One of my own personal favourites never sold in the US; much as I'd like to see it come out here, instead of just in Europe, that's neither why I wrote it or why I love it.

If the feedback and excitement are the primary pull - and that isn't a value judgement, because eagerness and feedback are way cool - then an immediate eager audience is a major, major rush.

As Susan says, it depends on what you want to get out of writing, and also on why you write in the first place.

The only problem with Tor is that they're legendary for how slow they are. Not only in response, mind you - they're slow on every level. They take frickin' forever.

Am I an idiot for believing that a bunch of fanfic with a proven and eager audience of a couple of hundred people is a better use of my skill than attempts to pitch stories to people who don't know me from Eve? It's not the money. There are people out there who talk about my stuff amongst themselves and write me thoughtful emails commenting on what's going on and what might happen next.

Connie, I'm exactly the same sort of idiot, so you're in good company.

so you're in good company

Yup.

I want everything. And if I don't write, I hurt people.

Erika, that is the best thing I have seen in a very long time. Can I tag?

And if I don't write, I hurt people

More fun than therapy, cheaper than drugs.

If you want, Kristin, please. (Although to be completely accurate, I'm my own victim more often than not. But I count as people, right?)

But I count as people

Some people never get to that stage of realization, that not hurting people includes themselves.

For Chino

When we first saw her in the pet store, she was just past true kittenhood, six months old.

"Oooooh!" My daughter was enchanted. "She's all golden!"

She was, too. A cameo shade Persian, gleaming yellow cat with yellow eyes, a purr that could be heard rattling across a room. We brought her home with us.

Fourteen years later, she is skin and bone. Cancer has taken hold. She sleeps on the big soft pillow in our living room, deep into dying. I touch her a lot, trying to reassure, to ease her out. Sometimes, her purr rattles under my hand.

This one's for Capuccino, purest gold.