...is not a story, so much as a gesture.
Writers were scarce. It was during the great Word Famine of 2004, on a chilly Saturday in February.
I signed up for DeviantART when I was bored at work one day, because my friend Bilious
had an account and I wanted to follow her art, and maybe post some poetry.
Back then, I think there were maybe two categories for written deviations: poetry and prose. Prose was broken down into fiction and non-fiction.
I posted some poetry, added a few pictures to my favorites, and promptly forgot that DA existed. After all, I was finishing college, and I had far more pressing matters on my mind.
Three years later I made another go of it, and had a really good run on DA. I made a lot of friends, accumulated several followers, and was pleasantly shocked that people were actually reading--and liking!--my work. Life and art were good for several years, yet as these things go, however, one by one most of the friends I'd made either left the site, or we fell out of contact one way or another.
I don't so much post or peruse now as lurk. I'm like a troll in the basement; every so often I look out my window wistfully at the world around me, and sometimes it even brings a smile to my face. But the memories I have of my heyday on DeviantART are exactly where they need to be.