For as long as I can remember, I had always wanted to be a pilot and a writer. The dream of being a pilot ended the day I threw up on a flight to Brazil. The dream of being a writer almost died when Lisa, a fictional character in one of my stories, killed herself.

It was seventh grade. I was twelve.

I always wrote stories, all kinds of stories. But I was a horrible student (an underachieving, chronically late, and intentionally rude meanie-pants) who hated adults and authority. So when I handed in a story about a girl who had been raped and then proceeded to kill herself (Lisa), things got a bit weird between me and the adults in authority starting with: the teacher who reported it to the principal, who reported it to the school counsellor, who called my mom and had me referred to the psychologist at Sick Kids Hospital. Oh, and they also called the police.

Apparently, the rape topic was over the top for a twelve-year-old to write about, and it was written too vividly not be a true story. The school thought it was a cry for help and intended to answer that cry. For the next few months, I was pulled out of class to attend mandatory counselling sessions, questioning by the police and appointments with some old man psychologist. On top of that, I had to answer my poor mother’s repeated question, “Who did this to you filha (daughter)?” To which I’d sigh, roll my eyes when she wasn’t looking and respond as calmly as I could manage, “No one, mãe. No one.”

I felt that they underestimated my abilities (again) and misunderstood me (again). I pictured them in their little teacher lounge with their big coffee mugs eating muffin tops whispering, “She’s too stupid to write anything this good”. So when they gave up trying to get me to talk about my trauma and asked me if they could send my story to a magazine for publication I responded, “f*ck no! And I’ll never write anything for you again!” And I meant it. When a short story assignment came around the following year, I resubmitted the same story.

LISA was the very last story I ever wrote. That is, until I wrote HAMARTIA.

Curious to read LISA? Yes, I still have it and will be posting an excerpt for you soon. Curious as to what sparked HAMARTIA after all these years of my stubborn silence post-LISA? Read all about it: Where Hamartia began