Writer.Artist.Creator.

I was linked to an article on facebook today entitled How Can I Tell My 15-year-old Daughter She is Awful at Writing?.

Good grief, people.

The article discusses the author’s feelings of betrayal and hurt feelings when her mother criticized her artwork as a child, and how much of a struggle it still is as an adult to draw or paint or create art.

Something in that resonated with me a bit.

I love words. I love stories. Since I was a kid, I’ve always had a book on hand for boring times. I repeatedly got into trouble at school for reading a book I had tucked under my desk instead of listening or learning about whatever was being taught.

It shouldn’t be a surprise then that I also love to write. To create my own stories.

I’ve spent so much time in other people’s worlds that it was probably only a matter of time before I tripped and fell into creating my own.

I’ve been writing for many years now. In many areas. Journaling, blogging, fanfiction, original fiction, personal essays..I’ve tried a lot of areas.

I’m not published, but I consider myself a writer.

So why can I still hear my father so clearly in my head when I think about writing? About being a writer?

My father never criticized me the way the mother in the article did. He didn’t rip apart something I wrote in front of me. He never said a bad word about my writing.

He never said a good word, either – but that doesn’t actually bother me.

What sticks out in my head is being in high school and frustrated with the whole “What I Want to be When I Grow Up” mess, I told him that I might like to be a writer.

His response, for all these years, has stuck with me.

“You know who should be a writer? Your sister.”

It wasn’t a harsh comment at all. He wasn’t saying that I was a bad writer..just that my sister was better. And underneath that, I filled in the blanks that I shouldn’t be a writer, because I couldn’t write. That I didn’t have talent, or that my writing wasn’t interesting or good.

I’m sure he doesn’t even remember the conversation.

But I do.

The words you say to young people stick – especially when it involves something important and scary to them.

Even if you truly believe that someone’s sister is the one who should be a writer; even if a young person brings you a picture of you with four legs and three eyes – don’t tear them down. They’re sharing a part of themselves with you. It should be an honor for you.

You don’t have to cheer. You don’t have to lie.

But in this case, especially: If you don’t have anything nice to say? KEEP YOUR DAMN MOUTH SHUT.