one of my brother’s little friends got a lot of attention and kudos because he had written and did artwork for his own comic book.
It really was good and I enjoyed the story.
I think it had something to do with space ships- Star Wars was a big thing that year.
One day after his friend a got written up about his comic in a local newsletter for city events, they were hanging out at our place.
So for his own reasons, my little brother went into my room and took one of my stories from the shelf I kept all of my writing on and he and his friend who wrote the comic book read it.
Did I care? Not really. I had already turned it in for one of my assignments and it got and ” A ” and I won a prize.
My brother’s friend looked at my brother and said, ” It’s heavy handed and dense. It’s not really that good.”
My brother looked at me, smug as a cat who had just scarfed a bowl of cream and a rat on the side and said.
” I don’t think it is either. ”
They were 12 years old and I was 13 and over 40 years later, when I’ve taken a kick to the head I can hear their voices and when I do, I sit down and write because-
I’m still writing and my brother’s friend hasn’t written a word since that Summer.
But on occasion I hear he says he might take it up again and I stop writing long enough to say, ” great ” and I go back to writing.