I have a tendency of cutting it pretty close to deadlines (for multiple reasons), but I think having the ability to say “I rushed/didn’t edit = it’s not my best work” acts as training wheels. I get to feel like I’m acing without the risk of failure. At the same time, I’ve always weirdly valued feedback and suggestions because I view them as a challenge to get better, fueling my already hyperactive drive for competition. I think something that can make it sting a bit is that I’m terrified of disappointing people, and an excess of praise at a young age can make a minor suggestion feel like a personal failure in comparison. Writing used to be an outlet, but years of not allowing myself to do it in a creative manner stunted progress. Emotional vulnerability is NOT my strong suit in the slightest. Seriously. I honestly can’t emphasize this enough; if you hug me, you can physically feel me awkwardly freeze up. Rereading my own work makes me uncomfortable simply by reminding me that I have *shudders* feelings. I’m mortified by the idea of someone else knowing that I possess emotions, let alone scrutinizing my unrefined gibberish. It can take a lot to even acknowledge certain thoughts, and opening up something that fragile to commentary is daunting. However, I’ve gotten much better at it! That Monica Geller-esque competitive nature tends to express itself in a personal emphasis on growth. When you compete with yourself, you always win (and have a formidable opponent). The concept of wasted potential drives me insane, so I started compiling a list of things to keep in mind when faced with constructive criticism and revision. I think I know how I can move forward to make it hurt less, but until I learn to separate the words from the personal significance they hold to me, I’m sure it’ll ache.

*answered in poems (my poison of choice)

1. When did you begin to write?

'the pen is mightier than the sword.'

i first wielded a weapon of mass destruction at the age of 5.

as soon letters and i had our meet cute,

i flaunted my combat skills through

hastily scribbled characters on hardwood.

when her back was no longer facing me,

my mother let out her own battle cry?

it was that day that i became acquainted with the ignorant.

how dare she call my delicate prose a

"beautiful mahogany office desk ruined by sharpie your dad is going to be so mad just wait until he finds out"

*sigh*

everyone's a critic.

2. What does writing give back to you?

a blonde, red-billed bird once sang

"i'd like to be my old self again,

but i'm still trying to find it"

to write is to simultaneously introspect and illustrate.

cold steel and stale disinfectant cloud my senses.

each endeavor i retain consciousness a little longer.

scalpel in hand, i peer within myself.

20/20 vision, yet my eyes strain

along with my neck, craned as i

blindly prod intestines. being an

avid researcher, each finding is

meticulously logged

a daily ritual now

a medical diary, if you will.

a strategic reopening of wounds if only to heal them fully.

a one-man surgical playset complete with:

a surgeon (doubles as a patient!)

a ball point scalpel

a college-ruled medical chart

a little endoscopy never hurt anyone...

odd that one should

have to look behind them

to see where they're headed.

research indicates walking backwards may just be

the most convoluted yet

most efficient route to tomorrow.

symptoms are a precursor to diagnoses.

and diagnoses to treatments.

but prevention should always be sought if possible.

i am the disease. i am the symptom.

i am the patient. i am the surgeon.

the cure lies in the illness.

the cure lies in the ill.

how bleak that the human psyche

can only be fully investigated by its owner

of course the mad possess a disturbing sense of humor;

laughter is the best medicine.

they expect the ill to create their own tonic,

knowing full well that toxin surges

within their bloodstreams. the sick also

possess a perverted lexicon. poison is

synonymous with antidote.

but introspection yields illustration.

my blacks became shades of grey,

and my greys, pastels.

i started dabbling in watercolor.

it's nice to see physics is a thing again;

for the longest time, my reflection didn't exist

3. What is your ultimate writing goal?

immortality