One step-sister convinced me to put aside my writing, pointing out that I would never amount to anything if I kept that nonsense up. So I stopped, for many years. She and step-mother were alike, always reminding me how clumsy and foolish and worthless I was. They each conspired in their own way to conceal me, I think, because I was an embarrassment and a burden to them. The voice inside my head, my other step-sister, echoed their voices, and spoke the words that kept the door locked tight all those years.
I wish I knew back then that I didn’t need magic or a fairy godmother to unlock it. All I needed was a little confidence. But when you don’t know what confidence looks like or feels like, when you couldn’t recognize it even if it was a monstrous, pumpkin-shaped, mouse-driven vehicle appearing right in front of you out of nowhere, it might as well be magic.