This realization suddenly occurred to me.
A fan friend and I hadn't talked in a while, so got caught up with each other today. During the conversation, she mentioned helping with adding more old stories to the Starsky & Hutch archive. And then she noted that my stories weren't on the archive, since I had my website. She suggested that a link to my website be added to the archive, so at least for there would be a way for new fans to find my stories.
After we hung up, I thought maybe I'd do that. But in trying to log on, the archive doesn't recognize my current email, and it'll take contacting the admin to add it... and it suddenly seemed difficult and I lost interest.
I was puzzled at my own lack of concern with pursuing it. After all, the more places my website appears, the more future readers. Then I had a sudden realization: if I somehow knew that no one would ever again read any of my stories, I would be okay with that.
That was a stunning thought, but only for a moment. I remember reaching that point with my first fandom, Kirk/Spock. After all the years of trying to write good stories, and ongoing frustration with the lack of feedback, I had to admit one day -- after I'd moved on to Starsky and Hutch fandom -- that I was okay with the idea that no one would ever again read my Kirk/Spock stories. They'd had their run. (Turned out, decades later, when someone posted them to a new Kirk/Spock archive, there was a shocking number of new, enthused readers.)
The reason I can't now bring myself to be concerned about the lack of future readers for my Starsky and Hutch stories is that I've gotten what I wanted from it. I've gotten an adequate degree of kudos, an adequate degree of interest at large. I've used the characters to explore all sorts of feelings and situations that mattered at the time, and so the creation of all those stories served its purpose.
These sorts of phases always happen in life. I've been playing a horse racing online game for nearly a dozen years, and I used to think I don't know what I'd do if it were to suddenly up and shut down. Now, I wouldn't be concerned if such a thing happened. I still enjoy playing, but not with the passion I used to. That passion has been transferred to my stable of real life horses.
When I first moved to this neighborhood in 2005, I loved walking my dogs in the huge variety of open spaces that occupied the butte. I lamented the time that was surely coming when most of those open spaces would be filled in with more houses and schools. Now, fifteen years later, there's more houses being built. But that's fine, because I only have one walking dog, who is old and 25 pounds, so a 20-minute walk along the neighborhood sidewalks suits us just fine. I milked the enjoyment of walking in the open spaces when I could and it made sense at the time. Now, it's fine that there's fewer options for walking in open space. Plus, I can drive a short distance to various trailheads if I want.
Over twenty years ago, I got enamored of the idea of having a tropical fish aquarium. I settled on a 75-gallon one and for a few years it was a big part of my life, caring for the fish and their home, including constantly buying new fish to replace the ones that died. Once I decided I wanted to get a new house, which meant moving, I didn't want to take the aquarium with me, because I'd tired of caring for it. I was immensely grateful to find a "fish rescue" that was willing to drive the 75 miles to my house and take away the aquarium and the fish. I've never owned a boat, but I've heard it said that there's two great days in a boater's life: the day they buy their boat, and the day they sell their boat. That's how I felt about the aquarium. It was an intriguing and expensive hobby while it lasted; but once my passion had run its course, I was done with it.
Now that I think about it, I'm not even sure it's that important to me anymore to maintain my Charlotte Frost website. But since the server space is paid for until next May, I've got many months to ponder if I want to change anything concerning my body of fan fiction.