I'm having this conversation with a friend about fandom and I thought it might not hurt to put a reminder out into the world:
Fandom is a two-way street. At one end, you have the creative types: writers, artists, vid makers (a dying art these days), the meta-commentary-writers. At the other end of the street, the folks who read and view and take in. Not everyone in a fandom creates and that's OK. You can just enjoy the fandom.
Ideally, the two feed off of each other. The creatives make their things; the readers/appreciators/enjoyers respond to let the creatives know that their work is being read/appreciated/admired.
But if the readers/appreciators/admirers go silent? If all they do is consume, without commenting or responding or even so much as hitting that "like" button? Well, the creatives are going to stop creating.
If you treat your creatives like nothing more than content creators, without letting them know that you love the things they make, they will disappear. They'll stop creating. Because as good as it feels to write that fic or draw that art or whatever, we don't exist in a vacuum. Fandom is at its heart a community. And if you stop feeding creatives, well. They starve. The creative works you claim to love will stop appearing.
The world is ending. You know it, your neighbor knows it, the dealer knows it, the jailer knows it, the king and all his men know it. All one has to do is look around to see it— the future is curdling into something pale and incorporeal. The infernal machine that is this stupid world is going to blow, sooner rather than later. So what are you doing? Why are you still here? Why is anyone still here?
SOLUTION
You are doing the only thing worth doing. You are living. *Why,* you ask? Try and remember now. Remember your mother’s hand on your shoulder. Remember the taste of a fresh catch. Remember the times when you were kind to the dogs in the valley and they did not bare their teeth. Remember the weight of a child on your shoulders. Remember the stars throwing their light against the wall of sodium and smog. Remember singing until your throat was raw. Remember crying just as loudly and publicly, and the gentleness with which someone opened your curled fist and pressed a handkerchief into your palm. Crying, laughing, running, eating, screaming, haunting, loving, fighting, fighting, fighting. The fight fuels you, and you fuel the fight. You run yourself ragged just for a chance to keep running. You never stop. You cannot stop. The world depends on it. *You* are the infernal engine. You are the world. And, simply put: you want to live.