Two-hundred eighteen episodes
It is the end of an era for me.
I started watching the X-Files in 1993. The first season and about half of the second aired before I discovered it. The first episode I saw caught my imagination and never let go. I wouldn’t be a writer without it.
I watched faithfully until the first episode of the ninth season. With all the cast comings-and-goings and resulting character changes, it no longer felt like the show I had fallen in love with. While not watching, I kept up by reading episode reviews and fan reactions and fan fiction. I returned to watch the last three episodes. I watched both movies. And I returned for both season ten and eleven. It has been a place of comfort, a place where I started exercising my writing skills, and a place where I’ve made lifelong friends.
I won’t say it’s a perfect show. At times the plots, if ran to their logical conclusion, were too painful to contemplate. Not because of the horror implied, but because of the leaps in logic and plot holes. It taught me a lot about writing through both the good episodes and the bad. Am I sorry I watched the series? No! Will I be back if there is a season twelve? At this point, I honestly don’t know.
I want to say thank you to Gillian Anderson, David Duchovney, William B. Davis, Mitch Pileggi, Nicholas Lea, Tom Braidwood, Bruce Harwood, Dean Haglund, Jerry Hardin, Robert Patrick, Annabelle Gish, and all the other wonderful actors for breathing life into characters who inspired me to dip my toe into the world of fan fiction. Without them, I would not be writing today.
PS – Special Agent Scully, Doctor Scully, didn’t get her own permanent desk or name on the office door? Really?