A few months ago, I was talking to one of my relatives when she asked, “where did it come from?” She was puzzled by the fact that I was born with a talent for writing—and, to a lesser extent, music--when nobody else in the family has such talent.

I was pondering over this myself earlier when I had an idea for a story and I thought, “not only am I writing, but the things I’m writing lean toward gothic or horror.” Interesting…

The Demons of Badprosia work in mysterious ways, indeed. Why just the other day they had me typing "Tweren't necessary for clouds to form so ominously unless the cutthroatish Count Deviat was behind it." And I was writing my grocery list!

My family asks my brother and me the same thing when it comes to our intelligence (not to brag, hah). I'm from a family of early school leavers (between 12-15 for the immediate family, minus my brother, me, and our oldest sister), and not very good spellers, let alone anything else! I suppose some things just spring up by themselves, regardless of family history

I would say that opportunity, also plays its part. My mum and gran left school at 14-15. Mum struggled as a single parent to keep me in school. Then when she went as a housekeeper to a Lady Doctor, she was encouraged to open a playgroup, further encouraged when she showed talent for teaching, to go to training college, and came out as a brilliant teacher aged 39. This same doctor gave me the chance and paid for me to study in France, when she saw my ability with language. So I feel it is not only nature, but nurture that helps intellectual development.

It’s funny, really, how some things work.

Grandma didn’t graduate high school—unless I’m missing something—yet wound up doing various billing jobs at different companies—including, one of the last before she was forced (by that stupid phrase “age discrimination” and the even more stupid practice of it) to retire at Caron Foundation.

My Uncle does construction work, and really has no interest in education, so I don’t think he graduated either.

My mother would have received her diploma had it not been for yours truly being born her senior year. Despite that, she later went on to get her Associate’s Degree at the local community college—then went on to a four-year school and took some classes toward her Bachelor’s. She has worked in banking in the past, then in medical records, as a network administrator and—after getting a license for it—nursing home administrator.

A few people here and there have encouraged my writing talent, but I’ve learned over the years that I must be careful when discussing my work—or works in progress, if you will (more than once when I was younger, I’d be telling Mom about a story idea, and she’d gruffly ask, “is that another ‘pretend friend’ story?” Another time, I was discussing a story with my grandmother when she interrupted me to ask, “Don’t tell me he’s black?” I was confused and shocked by the question. After all, what did it matter [besides, how does a name all of a sudden become ‘white’ or ‘black’]? Technically, she was right about the skin color—but she might not have been. (That was the day I stopped sharing story ideas with her—and, though I’ve tried to do so with Mom, I can’t seem to get past the ‘pretend friend’ comment—which, I might addk, persisted into my twenties. These days, she’s hurt that I don’t share anything—and she was upset when, the one time when she found an unfinished draft of a story (a few years ago), I imkmediately told her she couldn’t see it. Part of me feels like I’m being unfair to her, but anotherpart of me feels that, even if she doesn’t make a rude comment, she’ll merely “pretend” to encourage me or listen, when what she’s really doing is being indulgent (it’s happened with so many other things, I’ve lost count). At times, it even felt like she was trying to curb my writing ability [I guess because the kind of career I want doesn’t mesh with the idea or ideas she had for me].

To be fair, though, for the most part she (and Grandma) support my decisions (and I try to discuss any changes with them prior to making any—with the sole exception of my stories. I have let them listen to my piano music, though, and they’re quite proud of that. I’ve also read them *some* of my poetry.

I don't share my writing with my family either. Not from any malicious reason, but they're simply not interested enough to ask to see it - they know I write, though. I'm sorry that you've experienced such negativity with your family, Jazmee. It must be disheartening, but try not to let them affect your writing - you know I've seen it, and I think you're very talented.

Thanks, Alexxandra I wouldn't let it stop me--maybe when I was younger, but it's too much a part of me to be stifled Besides, there's too much stress created from locking it away.