Hello dear self, I'm pretty sure your the only one that knows this blog exist, but if there are others out there "listening" to my horrible rants and adventures, I greet you as well. 
  So I was flipping around on Facebook today  (like I always do during the summer) just minding my own business, avoiding all other ways of communicating with people I don't feel like dealing with. 

When suddenly I scroll upon something that seems so... beautiful. Something so inspiring that I have NO OTHER CHOICE but to click on this article and read it. When reading this letter from F. Scott Fitzgerald, it seems like wonderful advice! He clearly shows how much he cares about the writer's passion and like his work. I'm not upset about the actual letter, in fact, I find it to be the brutal truth, it's the post script that really kills me. 

"P.S. I might say that the writing is smooth and agreeable and some of the pages very apt and charming. You have talent—which is the equivalent of a soldier having the right physical qualifications for entering West Point."



At first this wouldn't appear to be insulting to anyone, but as I researched a little more about Frances Turnbull (the young aspiring author that F. Scott was writing to) I found that he was an incredible student at Harvard University.

                                              (Excuse the language, this just summed up my entire life in this moment)

Guys, I attend a small, private, Christian Academy that NO ONE KNOWS EXIST, and this dude went to Harvard! He's being told that he's an average writer! That, basically, he's only good enough to be considered one of the guys. I have no experience in professional writing, my grades are average, and I feel like it would be a miracle if I got into college. Freak my life. I give up. All I've ever wanted to be is a novelist, and my dream is crushed. 

Yeah... Ruined.