Screaming into the Void, AO3 Edition

Or: How I waited two weeks just to be immediately propositioned by scammers.

So, I finally joined AO3. Yes, I survived the fabled two-week waiting list, which is essentially like camping outside a velvet rope while the bouncer pretends not to see you. Every morning I refreshed my email like a pilgrim waiting for divine revelation: “Your place in the queue has been sanctified. You may now upload your nonsense into the ether.”

And yet, after all that suspense, the grand reward is still screaming into the void. AO3 is incredible, chaotic, generous, alive. But posting there feels like tossing a manuscript into the ocean and hoping Poseidon is in the mood to leave a kudos.

This would be fine if I were the kind of person who thrives on constant interaction. I am not. I am severely introverted, to the point where “putting myself out there” feels less like marketing and more like ritual sacrifice. And I am a Virgo, which means I do not just want things to be good, I want them to be perfect. So I sit hunched over my drafts agonizing over whether “pulse” is more erotic than “throb,” or if I should delete the whole thing because the cadence of one line makes me itch. I am, without exaggeration, my own worst enemy.

So, imagine my joy when my very first AO3 comments were not from starry-eyed readers who felt seen by my strange little recursion erotica, but from people who wanted money.

“Your work really spoke to me. I’m a paid artist, and I’d love to help you out.”

Translation: hand over your wallet, starving writer.

Then, as if the gods of irony weren’t done, another comment arrived two minutes later asking if I had socials to share. Two minutes. As though I had just hit post and immediately sprinted to Twitter to thirst-trap my entire life.

Nothing is sacred anymore.

I would like to say this did not rattle me, but it did. Because underneath the snark, I am still just a writer who poured months into something that already feels too raw to hand over, only to be met with: “Cool, can you pay me?” or “Cool, can you give me more access to yourself?” And I hate how predictable it is.

But here is the thing: I am still there. Still posting, still editing commas like my life depends on it, still trying to trick my perfectionism into pressing “publish” before it strangles me. Because despite the scammers and the exhaustion, I actually like screaming into the void. The void is honest. It does not pretend. And every so often, the void echoes back quietly, unexpectedly, with someone who is not asking for money or clout, just saying, “Hey, this mattered.”

So, if you are wandering AO3 and stumble across my corner: welcome. It is just me, an introverted Virgo gremlin trying to survive both my own brain and the internet’s eternal side hustle economy. And to the scammers? At least have the courtesy to be creative. If you are going to prey on artists, maybe start by reading the work first.

Final Thought

If this sounds defeatist, it probably is. Some days being a writer feels like volunteering to be ignored, other days it feels like paying rent in exposure while scammers circle like vultures.

But I would rather keep screaming into the void than stop entirely. Because at least the void doesn’t lie. At least the void is mine.

So no, I will not suddenly become an extrovert. I will not “network” until my soul rots. And I will not stop posting work that feels like it might tear me apart.

If that’s too much for you, the internet is full of polished brands with perfect smiles who never let you see them sweat. I’m just not one of them.

—Calder N. Halden
Introvert. Virgo. Screamer into the void.
If the void is all that answers, at least it doesn’t send an invoice.