I did promise you the rest of the story. There isn't as much of it as I had thought.
I left off in sixth grade when I was starting to realize that I had a problem. Middle school did nothing to help any of my social phobias. In fact, the less time spent dwelling on it, the better.
Seventh grade English class was a joke. The only good thing about it was that the teacher actually explained what he wanted from a book report - or a "book review," since we were big kids now. I believe I was the only person in the class who ever got a 100% on one of those. A rather unremarkable event over the course of a day in middle school, but it was a turning point in my life. For the first time, I realized that I might actually be decent at writing if I ever gave myself a chance.
That is to say, writing became easier, but having my stuff read still made/makes me feel a bit queasy. I'm getting better though. I can physically bring myself to read the teacher's comments when I get papers back. Most of the time.
Just don't ask to see my novels.
Big Secret #1: I write.
It started in middle school. As though all of the words and stories I had been taking in almost constantly suddenly overflowed. It started with some typical "normal person discovers magical powers, plot ensues." Then, as my tastes in literature began to mature, it moved on to deconstructions of fantasy cliches. I am on something like my twentieth draft, with no end in sight. Every time I think I'm getting close, a new complication appears.
There ought to be a better way to connect me child who hated to create a single sentence to me attempting to write a novel, but there is not. One day I started writing. And I haven't stopped.
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