The Greatest Thing ...

siDEADde, World-famous authoress of the World-famous Twilight fan-fiction Lunière (I'm not being indulgent in either claim, both are statements of fact), has started writing a new story, and with a vengeance ... That's nearly three and a half years after silence from her (with a very brief Hollows cameo).

The greatest thing you'll ever learn ...

That's the title of her new story.

I took three years off myself from MSR, ... some readers are probably scared right now, after more than a month of silence from me, that I'm about to take another walkabout.

You see, to write is to know, to know is to love, to publish is to share that love.

To be read, as a writer, is to be loved.

The greatest thing. siDEADde knows this, better than me, in fact.

But to love and to be loved ... is that the easiest thing in the World? Sometimes. Sometimes when the chapter flows, for both the reader and the writer, and the love is so thick in the air that people start looking at the mutual admiration society and grumbling, loudly, that a room should be got for all this display.

But sometimes it isn't. Sometimes you put your heart out there, as a writer, and you risk everything, writing it, but that's just the start of the nightmare, because then you have to work up the courage to select "publish chapter," and then you have to wait, and to wait, and to wait for those reviews, and they come, filled with understanding and love, and you cry so hard with the relief that people understood what you wrote and instead of crucifying you, they honor your bravery and courage.

And sometimes the reviews come, and they are angry with you. And they hate you. And, worse, they misunderstand you. And worse, they attack your characters. Your babies.

And sometimes, the reviews don't come at all. And your 'number one fan,' you know them, writers, right? That one person who says and does everything devotedly, and swears they'll buy your books when you publish 'fer realz, yo,' and will be with you to the end.

Your number one fan. She grows distant. Then silent.

Then she's gone.

And it happens over and over and over again. A self-proclaimed number one fan, comes, burns with zeal, then burns out and is gone.

And so a new number one fan shows up, burning, ...

What do you do, dear writer? How much hurt can you take from how many people demanding even more than everything you poured out onto the page? How much can you take before you scream 'FUCK OFF!' at a young girl who printed out your story so she can get your autograph?

But this is her first time at being a number one fan, ever, even if she is your twentieth, isn't it? And even if she is your twentieth number one fan, ...

She's still a person, looking for the greatest thing, and she read your story, and she found it.

What are you going to do?

Hide? Hide from the hurt for three-plus years, and then not publish again, ever, because the hope, the terrible hope, hurts too much? And the fear is crippling?

You, dear writer (ahem: 'me, dear writer') have a gift. And you've shared that gift, and you have fucking rocked people's worlds, so much so that there is now somebody breathing, who would've killed themselves, but they read your story, and hoped. And lived. And shared that story with herself, and couldn't believe it, that somebody else in the world knew her, and understood, and wrote their love on a page, and gave it to her for her to read.  And maybe she shared it with a friend. And maybe she shared it back with you, tentatively, fearfully, tremblingly, in a review she wrote: 'oh god im peeing ur story so good update soon god i love it [backspacing over 'i love u' because she doesn't want you to think she's weird or anything like that].'

And when you replied (you do reply to your reviews, don't you?) she peed herself again when she saw in her inbox 'review reply from geophf' or 'siDEADde' or 'Eowyn77' or whomever. And when you didn't snap her head off, but thanked her, politely, for her review? She just died and went to heaven, and god (you) wasn't mean and nasty and so haughty, but was actually nice?

Well.

It's the greatest thing, isn't it?

It isn't always the easiest thing. Sometimes it's easier to run, and to be harried by the demons inside, screaming at you so loudly you can't even hear yourself think most times, calling you a chickenshit for not writing what you know you should, what you have to, just to touch one other soul in the world, to share your heart, one more time, even if that means it gets torn out and trampled into the dirt, because that one more chapter and story will do something for somebody, somebody you'll never have known otherwise, who needed these words, your words to make it through this impossible day.

So what do we do? We write, we read, we cry, and then maybe even we sigh and get on with our day, and the world is a little bit tiny better place for you and for me.

I write. I don't particularly like it. I do love it, however, and what it does for you. I do love you, even though I'll've never met you in person, ITRW. I write, you read. We love, and are loved.

The greatest thing.