Lessons from a mean girl

​“Why do you even bother writing?”

It wasn’t the question itself, but rather the insolent way she said it. As though writing was a waste of time. No, wait. That’s not quite it.

As though ME writing was a waste of time.
She was rather nasty the way she asked it, but, for some reason, I still felt compelled to answer.

“I write for myself,” I replied.

She sneered. Looked like she was going burst out in laughter at the response. “For yourself? Hardly.” She halfway rolled her eyes. “If you were truly writing for yourself, why would you even bother to put it on a public website where anyone could see it?”

​As rudely as she had spit the words at me, she had a point. Was I really writing for myself if I HOPED others would read it?

I paused. “I suppose that’s true,’ I conceded, ‘and yet it’s okay to write something for myself and still want others to read it…isn’t it?”

Our eyes met across the counter. We both stared at each other. And in that instant that felt like forever, I wondered to myself why I even cared what this bitch thought. She never did like me.

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