Confession O'Clock

Dearest Austere Aster,

I am so fucking excited. I was excited about this adventure of ours even before you reminded me that it has, indeed, been in the works for over a decade; but now that I realize that our dialogue is truly the offspring of the most profound and unique relationship of my life, I am just... speechless. In a good way.

I remember when I first read your writing. Yes, I speak of the aforementioned Xanga. I was so impressed, and also jealous. There you were, almost a year younger than me, spewing eloquence and intelligence of gargantuan proportions, seemingly without effort. My cocky pre-teen self had finally met its humbling match. You intimidated the crap out of me, as much as I tried to hide it. You still do. Except now, I want to shout your brilliance from the rooftops of the world. "That's my best friend. That's right. Mine. She could kick your best friend's butt any day of the week. Bring it."

How It Started

We have always been so unlike each other --- opposite, even. It is no surprise that our relationships with writing, our "whys" are also different. You say that writing gives you life; you speak of it with such beautiful tenderness, as if describing something precious, and elusive, and magical. For me, language has always been a practical means to an end, and often times a weapon. I was a mean little bitch of a child, let me tell ya.

I come from a highly literary family, so the idea of creative writing was always an ideal in my mind. However, even when, at the age of 5, I dressed up all fancy and sat in front of an old typewriter next to an open window (because that, I imagined, was what writing is all about), words and inspiration did not flow. Neither did it happen for me when I tried to write a 'book' for our fifth grade Scholastic fair competition. (The end result was a poorly repurposed version of The Hatchet, of all the damn things. I think I spent more time on my bio for the cover than I did on the actual story.)

No, my writing feels inspired and energized only when it has something to do with impacting humans in some way. I am not proud of this, but when my eleven-year-old self decided to play an elaborate prank on a family friend, writing a series of acceptance letters to magical schools a la Hogwarts—that's when the words kept coming, and they didn't stop coming. They kept coming all the way until I got her to drink a bunch of crap 'potions' and almost do a blood sacrifice. Told you: I was a mean little bitch.

I learned early on that writing and communicating effectively can make people feel, and think, and do what I want. I am not always great at this, and there is always room for improvement, but social manipulation (copy? marketing? rhetoric? whatever.) is what gets my fingers clickity-clacking. Even something as silly as a string of racy, provocative text messages that were sure to get a rise out of a poor, unsuspecting male. You know which one(s). You were there, right next to me, giggling and participating in the festivities.

How It's Going

At this point, I imagine that I am not presenting myself in the best of lights. Look at this haughty, controlling twat, unabashedly baring her wicked soul. And I agree, in part. But I also know that my linguistic prowess and love of influencing others with words has led me to the world of teaching, which was my happy home for the past decade. I adored helping my students discover their voices, to realize the power of their tongues and pens, to feel that they can get anything they want out of life, as long as they ask for it effectively. I loved the fact that many of them became stronger, more confident individuals as a result of my obnoxious and shameless persona.

Maybe it is the language-learner immigrant in me, or perhaps the years of dedicating my professional life to language in some capacity (school, school, and more school), but I fervently believe that writing is a key that opens many doors. And I am so ecstatic that you and I get to walk through these doors and hold the keys together.

So, jingle-jangle, clickity-clack.

With all my love, my dearest friend.

-Obnoxious Orchid

P.S: So, since we are on the topic of soul-baring... What is a quality of yours that you are less-than-proud of? And more importantly, what silver lining does it add to your life?