I have a friend who seems to be easily bothered by fandom discourses (using the word fandom loosely). She sees bad takes and it rolls around in her head, hurting her, needing to be expelled one way or another.
I understand this feeling, because there was a time that I, too, can't stand to see someone being "wrong" on the internet. I guess the difference is that it started when I was 12 or so years old, and as I realised how much of my time is taken up arguing with randos online with no visible results, I became... disgusted is the word, I think. Disgusted at myself for giving them, for giving anyone my time of the day, and I learned to not engage. Stick to my lane, and my circles of people.
It is, in a way, blissful. I see strangers read a character totally wrong or having absolutely terrible taste in writing and I'm like, you do you, mate. Go on. I'm not gonna argue with someone with the reading comprehension of a child.
Just block and move on, you know?
But this... apathy, let's call it, also bleeds into the other "fandom" too. Someone supporting a presidential candidate who did something atrocious? I don't even have the energy to signal my outrage, and it's not like anything I say is going to change anything, you know? Block and move on. Block and move on.
It's just... I guess, I've always been impotent, so why even deny it? Nothing I write is gonna be read by a lot of people; the internet is full of things to read already. Why put effort batting at people who won't argue with you in good faith? ... Well, over time it turns into, why put effort at all.
I hate myself for staying silent. Cryptobros? GenAI boom? The genocide in Palestine? Blatant queerphobia on campus? Everyone I know already hates them, so why put effort to talk about it? Whether I put the effort in or not isn't going to sway people either way. What, you think the bigots will listen to me?
I don't give a damn about them. Why would they give a damn about me?
... I want to be a writer. I am one. I like putting my thoughts out there, stringing words into language that can convey how I feel. And what is writing if not putting effort into something, such that someone else will give a damn? I still believe that the pen can be mightier than the sword...
I've been writing less. I hate myself for that. So many things to read out there already, if I don't give a damn about those, why would they give it to me? Just a vicious little cycle going round and round in my head.
I fight it bit by bit: writing about inconsequential things. Look at this bug I found! I love bugs! Look at this character! I love how he's written in this story! I hate myself for that too; it's as if I'm ignoring the bigger picture.
I know people, writers, who are just bursting at the seams with things to write and say, who simply cannot shut up. Some of them are, well, bad, but many of them are good. It doesn't even have to be Ursula K. Le Guin good or Brandon Sanderson prolific. I follow some people on Twitter who just tweet about their mundane days or their character hyperfixations and I love everything they say. Seeing them talk was a delight.
And I think, could that be me? I feel like I would have so many things to say, but I shut them down as I grew up, systematically trashed them. And as I get older and shoulder more responsibilities and have less energy for things seemingly inconsequential but nevertheless gives life its lustre, well, I think if I don't stop this, I'll be left with nothing. Maybe I'll be strong, in a way: I'll see the world grinding people to dust around me and it won't hurt me. But I don't want that. What kind of strength is that?
I gotta teach myself to give a damn again.
