At this moment in time, I'm currently balancing an unwritten short story for English due in a week and the idea of a research paper for National History Day. I know that my writing skills in some areas surpass that of Wizard's, but she ends up getting all the credit because she is more apt to exploit her work. I tend to be on the humble side, only sharing my expertise with those who can truly appreciate it or give me extra credit. People still constantly compare me to Wizard, and I'll admit that I haven't written a word of fiction in weeks that I appreciated.
Shocking, isn't it? I can write blog posts just fine, but I do so with a pang of anger and resent, as Wizard doesn't have a blog and all "posts" that she writes are just links to Youtube videos. Still, whenever it comes to fiction, I know that my tongs are hot and ready to go whenever I need them, but my calloused hands are fumbling with them whenever I feel the Wizard's aura effect me. I can't appreciate my writing anymore, and I do it out of habit rather than out of joy and inspiration. Writing has become more of a chore than walking the dog on rainy days.
I'm scared. I love (loved?) writing so much and it is truly the root of my existence. Without writing, I wouldn't be anything that I am today, from how I dress to how I speak. I fear that Wizard will take over my life, and she is. Everyone just relays that fact to me over and over again, instilling more of a fact than something to make me angry enough to change. That's why there have been fewer interesting posts here, too, as I feel too guilty to blog, as much of my fiction time was converted into blogging time as I hated my writing more and more. It's nothing like the wizard's, I tell myself day after day, You're simply too far behind. Her mother wins writing contests, and your mother quit. Why should you continue? If the wizard follows her mother's footsteps, then you will, too.
I knew I had to do something, so I tried to find what separated Wizard and I, writing-wise. I was much more professional and could effectively write in several different styles, whereas many of her stories were about lion-like sword-wielders whose main characters always died in the end from magical overdose. She wrote after Kingdon Hearts and anime, whereas I wrote after the smell of tea and people-watching (and eventual people-obsessing-over). But there was something startlingly different about how we presented ourselves. As my writing grew in popularity, I started to hide it more as to avoid peer pressure. Wizard gave her writing to her favorite teachers and grew to be the teachers' pets in all of her classes. I didn't want to put myself up to that par, so I avoided it, only shrouding myself in more guilt. Now, when we're in the same classes or situations, I avoid writing and speaking as a whole. I let her win every time, assuring myself that one day I'll strike a blow that makes me better, once and for all.
In the meantime, as I sulk on the weekends, I desperately try to enjoy writing again. I started writing about a girl who lived immortally by literally "dis-/re-placing" objects and people to feed off of experiences. I intend her to suffer a strong internal conflict once one of her interesting "catches" dies in a car crash due to a foul re-placing. I reduced myself to older techniques in order to both console myself and make it harder to share:
Writing in cursive is a technique that I learned in the second grade only to actually apply in the seventh. I was the victim of people reading over my shoulder as I wrote my stories, so I decided to write in a way that few could decipher. Those few happened to genuinely appreciate my writing. I feel like knowing how to read and write in cursive is a skill that only those literally dedicated can really take on. Since then, I write in cursive normally for my notes and papers. (My manuscript isn't so bad, but it's messy and ends up turning into cursive.)
If you've gotten this far, well, I wish I had something nice to give you. I'll be working on that. Have a good day!
Ruby
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