Maybe I should elaborate.
For my writing fiction class, we are writing short stories and then we have everyone read each others stories. So my homework for the next class period was to read two of the short stories, so I brought them home with me during thanksgiving break. I also brought home my copy of my own short story. Silly me thought it was safe on my bed in my room. Nothing is safe.
My dad finds me in the kitchen on Saturday morning. "I read your short story 'Toll Booth'...the one that was on your bed." I made a face. possibly a disgruntled huff or noise of some sort. "I loved it. Your writing is really good."
Sunday: In the car driving back to school, my mom says "You should write more. I love the way that you write. Our family are very good writers, you should write things all the time. I used to keep things written down but I was never confident enough in my writing to----" and she goes on...
So here I am. Sharing my crazy offensive thoughts.
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