The only time I felt personally betrayed by my love of writing was at school, in an English Lit class. We were handed back our papers from a creative writing assessment and it was one of those horrible moments where I become acutely aware how un-special I was. The details are fuzzy now but from what I recall, the mark I received was 1 point lower than a full 100%. This was painful. Not only this but someone did actually get those golden full marks.
Looking back on it, in the short space of a fleeting glance to that paper, I had hopped from my character category of best friend to arch nemesis in the vein of young Draco Malfoy. I felt so hotly ignored and pushed aside in my second best spot that it honestly felt personal. I was wounded for the rest of the day. In my comparatively small world back then, I was at a loss – anyone could write well if they wanted to. Anyone could have killed Harry. Ron could have just had enough one day and Avada Kedavra’d him to high hell. The world is ridiculously flimsy like that.
I have since realised that what matters more lies in why I cared so much about wanting to be recognised for my writing, that I cared about my writing. I decidedly chose not to study creative writing at university and I’ve never really regretted that decision. What writing provides me is a place to go back to, as and when I want it. I didn’t fancy having my protagonists and villains ostracised for having unrelatable motives or just bizarre character defects that aren’t cute, just concerning.
My first proper publication was my post submitted to Honest Generations. It reignited what love I have as a writer to be able to craft and respond to a theme, an idea, an image. There is an upcoming competition: The Dinest Allirajah Prize for Short Fiction 2021. It was my mum who brought it up and sent it my way. At first I was suspicious and sceptical – I didn’t fancy being associated with more serious connections to the writing world. Coming from my mum, news of a competition felt like a melancholic nod to what she knew I really wanted to do as a child – write stories, write fiction. I was hesitant to getting back into that realm of old dreams.
This leads nicely onto the theme of the competition – Home. Psychologically, my immediate ideas for what story to craft did amuse me as they fell quite comfortably in the genre of thriller/creepy. I would not tread anywhere near those themes when I was younger but in the glaring light of pandemic home-life; it’s hard to muster even creative energy to imagine anything ordinary. Dystopia surely is calling? Something I have found in the past 5 years is that you can't be selfish in your writing, as much as creative writing is from the imagination it can't be biased in favour of your arch nemesis of a subconscious.
No-one wants that.
I will make sure to update my progress with this competition.
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