(Yes, that was a Star Trek reference)
This isn't meant to sound like a pity party, honest. But reading other entries in this challenge, it's becoming clear to me.
I am not a Writer.
I write, and I'm fairly good at it. I'm not horrible, at least. But a Writer I am not. A Dancer, a Designer, a Seamstress, this is where my art comes through. I am, however, determined to finish this challenge, because I'm stubborn like that, but I know it's not me.
I have so many friends who are Writers. I can't really say that my writing was an attempt to fit in, for I began it when I was the only one among my circle. But now I'm the little fish in a big pond, so to speak, and I think I find my true joy elsewhere.
The realization is freeing, in a way. I no longer feel inadequate, just different, and that I've always been, wherever I am.
"This world is not my home."