• Xeshwn (Zesh-vinn): Age 17: Author in the Making

    I sighed and leaned back in my chair as I finished up my latest story, Raining in Hell. It was supposed to illustrate the very definition of negativity, but I wasn't sure if I had been successful in the making. I read over it once. Twice. Nearing fourteen. It was good enough, but, somehow, not quite.
    The fact that it wasn't perfect... that bothered me. People always said that the best writers are the ones that found it hard to write. When I first heard that quote, I doubted myself. Because I had been writing since I was in first grade. And it always came so easily. I had an idea, I would complete the novel in ten minutes flat. But nowadays, it was harder. Not hard to put it on paper, mind you, but hard just to come up with an idea. Nothing seemed pleasing. Satisfactory.
    So long I've been trying to envision how to put Raining in Hell in suitable words. And now, I have succeeded. After reading it for nearly the thirtieth time, I had an important realization. The whole story was not too distant from the story of my own life. Meaningless and overly flourished.
    I had long been the top in my class, the star, the hero. I had always been idolized, admired, looked favorably upon. I loved it. I always strove for the top, for perfection. And I always reached that goal with little effort. People envied me, people adored me. It was amazing.
    And then, when I hit junior high, it began to plummet. talk2hand
    Where I live, there are three primary schools that join together into one junior high school. I met others from other primary schools who evidently surpassed me. I wasn't alpha dog, anymore. I was like the former war general: I had that spark living inside of me, but it was obvious that that spark was fast fading: I was getting old, and no one really respected me anymore: sure, they all knew who I was and were polite around me, but they never really thought of me as anything special. I felt pathetic, really. gonk If you've ever felt like that, you know it can really get you down.
    Many times I considered suicide. wahmbulance All those stories about the kids who were diagnosed with depression and commited suicide... it made me feel horrific. I knew I was down, and I did often tell myself that I was worthless and there was no point in living. But I never actually came around to killing myself. It was just a fantasy, one that I guess I hope never comes to life.
    They were quite a few people who were better than me at things, anything. This person got higher test scores, that person was more approachable and pleasant, and the other person had a better grasp at politics.
    I resorted to my only two strong points: the only two that left me in my former glory: the power of writing and music.
    I could play the violin. The piano. The guitar. The clarinet. I could sing. Music came so easily to me.
    But soon, music became my only weapon.
    I met a couple other writers. They all had faults in character, as I came to notice, but they were better writers. And they took longer. They thought it out, wrote drafts and drafts. I don't remember a single project where I made more than one draft...
    They found it hard. And they were good. And I wasn't. Not compared to them. Not anymore. My life of stardom was falling apart... though I guess it had already fallen. I doubted myself again. More often, now. I studied my faults. And the faults of others. Compared them. Compared myself to other people. It hurt, when I decided the results.
    Oh, sure. I was a little (only a "little" wink arrogant and egotistical (the occassionally unfortunate result of my childhood fame), I was stubborn to no end, I didn't often think things through until after it was over, I was book smart but not street smart, I was a little sadistic, I definitely had a rebellious side, I was very talkative and a bit annoying, I enjoyed bugging people, I loved to brag (another result of my childhood fame), I looked down on other people, I dissed humanity to no end, I was judgmental (I was practically known for being judgmental by half my friends), serious (very few jokes/smiles), picky, nosy, sarcastic, and cynical. Yay. stare
    My rival (of whom I considered) in writing, Taala, was a different case. She was a serious perfectionist, with a violent persona, and a natural tendency to talk loudly. Plus, she was short. Those were her 'faults', to my mind. They weren't problematic faults, but I was scratching for something to say about her. She had nice friends, and she was smart. Clearly, I appear the lesser. But no matter.
    And then there was Kira. She was genius. But she wasn't a nerd. She was organized, a little meticulous, and a creature of habit. She was a decent author, and she loved reading. Constantly, constantly reading. It drove me up the wall. She wasn't exactly musically talented, but she was good at sports. Good enough.
    And Jardin. He was smart. He was funny. He was bold. He knew what he wanted to do with his life, and it didn't take lone to realize that if this was indeed the road he chose to pursue, he would excel greatly. I could admire that. That passion...

    You may think, based on my viasge of myself, that I'm a sick, twisted person. Sometimes, I'm not sure why I have any friends. Surely they can't be attracted to someone like me. I always have that hope, though, that maybe it's just me being judgmental and harsh: like always. I'm a harsh critic, a serious perfectionist. Maybe I'm not as bad as I thought.

    But then again, maybe I am.

    (To be continued in Chapter Two, Bezesný Spánek : Ddorn)