My brother was a nosy little bastard growing up. I never had a diary that he didn’t read, a laptop he didn’t break into or a notebook he didn’t steal and relentlessly mock.
I’d hide my writing on a USB key tucked away in my school bag, but he’d sneak into my room and steal it, later smugly quoting lines from my stories. He’d say how embarrassing and bad they were. How he couldn’t believe I’d written those things. The boy was a bloodhound and perpetually on the hunt for new ways to make fun of me.
True, some of my writing was Twilight fanfic, but my self insert character didn’t get to date Edward or Jacob. She was barely their friend, even in my wildest fantasies. (Let’s not read into that too much, though) The content was silly and childish and certainly nothing to be ashamed of, but I poured my heart and soul into it nonetheless, and the only feedback I ever received was my brother’s mockery.
I don’t know what the fuck his problem was. I’ve asked him about it in the years since and he has no real answer, just that he didn’t hate my writing or know why he was so obsessed with tormenting me about it. He’s one of my best friends and grew up into a fantastic man, but Christ almighty he put me through hell getting there. I hate to blame my extreme aversion to people reading my writing on him, but he certainly didn’t help the matter.
The long and short of it is that writing has been my life for so long and some day I would like to publish something. I know in order to do this people will have to read the words I put down on paper. A horrifying concept, but a doable one.
I’ll try to post semi regularly. If no one reads a single word of it, fair enough. Maybe my writing is terrible and my ideas cliche! Not the end of the world. The ball will at least be rolling. Maybe someone will read something I have written and I will get real feedback for the first time in my life!
That’s about it for me. Not sure where this personal stuff came from, but it is very late and I am sitting alone in the kitchen of the house I grew up in, home in Ireland for the first time in a long time and under tragic circumstance. If I wasn’t so tired I could probably figure out where these feelings are coming from, but for now I think I’ll just go to bed.














