Once upon a time in fandom, I used to print out fics because of some misguided notion that wasting all that ink would be better than saving them onto my mother's dinosaur of a computer. I no longer have the patience for that, but I still kept all those stories in a manila folder ... which I unearthed today.
The crap I read back then was unreal; I used not have such high standards when it came to reading and my tastes once verged on a passion for parody. The real point here, though, was that amongst the dregs I found my VERY FIRST FIC.
One thing struck me about it, a very odd thing indeed. Not that I chose to do a Potterverse/Narnia crossover. Not that it was Harry/Ron with Ron as a closet transsexual. Not that I had Voldemort as the White Witch, also in drag, in a snowmobile and Dobby as Mr Tumnus. Not that I made Hermione a chain smoker. No, none of those things - none of which, moreover, I made up.
The thing was this: I wrote that when I was about sixteen and a half? I'm now pretty much nineteen. And my writing has not changed one whit. Siriusly. Oh, the subject matter may have got a bit less silly and my tangle with adverbitis came, was battled and is slowly fading; but aside from that, after three years of this ... still the same.
But not as depressing as the cache of cross-dressing!Harry fics I seem to have stumbled on. (Although people in glass houses, yadda yadda yadda.)