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Monday, April 25, 2011 @ 4:40 pm.
I've never hid the fact that I write from others. I don't think I was ever ashamed of it, even as a kid, probably because people thought I wrote well back then and I loved praise. I didn't care when I was the only one in class who actually liked English because we got to write compositions. I didn't care when I told people I spent my time writing things that I would never be able to submit for competitions or even publish or even show to anyone else reputable and had them look at me with weird faces and skewed smiles.
Writing is my identifier. Other writers might have other things to identify themselves by, like A* student, or artist, or lit geek, or drama person, or lawyer, but for me that's pretty much the only thing. I don't have anything to cover this up with, at least, not anything I consider worthy enough to do so. I define myself by it, even when I don't do much of it. It's kinda the way I think.
I do hide what I write, though. I don't know why. Just now I met my EE supervisor for the first time and I told her that I wrote (in order to justify my reading choices). "Really? That's so sweet," she said. And then she said "You should show me one of your works." and inside my mind I went oh, shit. I don't even know why. I already have a piece to fall back on when someone asks me to show them what I write, but... I don't know, somehow I just hate to do it. Maybe it's because I'm never really happy with what I write. Maybe it's because I'm embarrassed about it. Maybe it's because I'm worried that when I show them what I do and they look at it they'll think it isn't good but then they'll look up and not say it.