Growing up Writing

Growing up, I was the artist and my sister the musician. She did a lot of reading, and I did a lot of writing. Sure, I was interested in music and she had a capacity for art, but we mostly kept to our areas, I guess. It conveniently helped avoid competition. Now, my sister is writing her first books and I read a lot more than I used to. Maybe next I’ll learn an instrument and she’ll start drawing?

My one and only real goal as a teenager was to get my first novel published before graduating high school. But, I never even finished writing a novel, just a few short stories and REAMS of poetry/prose. I wish I had my gradeschool and 7th grade short stories to post for you. You'd probably get a laugh out of them.

I’m a writer. Maybe not a good one, but it is in my blood and guts to write. Who I am doesn’t change based on anyone else’s opinions, but a friend’s recent misconception about me did say something… at least about my laziness. She said she had assumed I just wrote because my sister does. So obviously, she didn’t know us way-back-when, but it got me thinking. If someone around me can be totally ignorant to the fact that I have had writing inside me all my life, then it isn’t her fault for not knowing me. It’s my fault for slacking on my old goals. Admittedly, if I enjoy doing something, it always becomes last on my list of priorities. Silly, I know. It’s that self-grounding guilt thing leftover from childhood. But, I can’t be that way. I need to make myself find time to draw and write or I’ll come to regret it someday, for certain. Actually, my mother said I was a much better writer than artist, but I still love to do both.

Maybe my sister and I would have been better off if we did have a little sibling competition. Seeing someone else do now what I should have done long, long ago… that should give me an added kick in the pants to do what I was made to do. Admittedly, it hasn’t. I’m just glad she’s doing something she shows obvious talent for. I guess I’m just not competitive enough, especially when it comes to writing, since that has always just felt “mine”, more so than painting, drawing, or even this face on my head. But, it doesn’t change the fact that I’m failing a very, very old promise to myself. Obviously, it’s a little late for that big goal of way back when, but I know how writing makes me feel, fulfilled... at home... focused. I should never neglect that.