A very special and highly talented writer has declared her intent to sign off from the Fan Story site in a few days. I'm really not certain if her exit is based on the cost of admission or being worn down by critics. In the real world, if she was my flesh and blood friend, I might have been able to comfort her, cajole her or get her drunk, but our relationship is connected by adjectives and a desire to be heard.

Not necessarily by me. Often writers frequent this site in an attempt to find themselves in the confusion of a million messages that serve no other purpose than to diffuse the passion that we all contain. Over the years on Fan Story I have shared some very special moments and journeyed through books, moments of doubt and heart wrenching tragedies. I try to walk gently through the gardens of other writers, without bruising the petals or the seeds that will one day grow into majestic oaks. I don't always succeed. My intentions have never been to maim, wound or leave scars.

In this case, I don't even shrug. Perhaps FS became an obsession, took the place of dawn and twilight and the flawed individuals who, like me, spend time here. I know how to find her and she is every bit as real to me as the mornings forecast, but I don't know and never will, why something she loved became her enemy.

During my tenure on this site I have had the humble experience to meet, trade barbs and share laughter in our playground. But, somewhere out of range is a cemetery, and broken spirits who toss and turn, still trying to get it right.

When the ratings came in at the end of the year, I stared at the list and lost a tear. Captain Jack maintained his number twelve position for nine months after his last post. For a very short while we played duelling banjos on site, trading words and witticisms to the amusement of many. He simply disappeared and I suspect he died. I was given no evidence of his passing, no chance to write a eulogy to honour his affect on me.

Whittakker wrote it out, puked on the page and had me chained to her every punctuation mark, then got over it and moved on. Bob tethered me to his story of childhood and made me wish that the monthly donation I sent to Foster Parents could be cashed in by Joey. He too finished and then disappeared.

Some writers have allowed me to lounge and rejoice in their success. There are others who seem to feed off of praise and have either given up on me or I've been fired in the process. In every case I have deeply benefited from my relationship to fellow authors. Its almost like belonging to the glee club in high school, but infinitely more satisfying.

So my friend, if you have to go, go with my sincerest, and deepest appreciation for the time we spent together. ingrid