My husband, God love him, has the best looking legs I've ever seen on a man. He's six foot two with runner's legs. Though he doesn't run much these days, his calves are amazingly shaped, nice feet (for a guy) and not an ounce of fat anywhere on those long, long appendages. Just fabulous looking legs. It's no wonder the man wears walking shorts ten months out of the year.
Me? Capris are as high as I go. The ole' Daisy Dukes bit the dust back when Daisy was a baby. Maybe before then. I own no less than a dozen pair of black pants and capris. Cute, but black. And we'll not even mention the size.
My legs are not my best feature. I know this. It doesn't make me a bad person. I just have to find my good points and "highlight" them. Then hide the rest the best I can by throwing on black. Or some other dark color that minimizes the mile-wide backside I was born with. I think when God said, "You want legs?" I thought He said eggs, and I said, "Not today, thanks." I missed that one.
Some folks were born with ugly ears. Some women have funny shaped noses and fingernails that resemble round m&m's when painted. Other people's eyes disappear as they age and their hair clings to their head. Awful. But on the flip side these same people have little fat on their butt's and hips, their skin is flawless, and they have fabulous-looking legs!
It's like that with talent, isn't it? You may suck at writing poetry, but I could read your short stories all day and all night. You may excel at storytelling, but I'm not sure you'd make it as a journalist. See what I mean? Not everyone has the entire package. We have mixtures of good and ... not-so-good within our makeup as a human. On the inside and the outside. What we must do is be tolerent, considerate, and allow children to find their own talents without pushing them into one they simply ... don't have. That goes with some adults, as well. Because some folks are still chasing their talent. Some folks spend their whole lives thinking they have the "talent for writing poetry." When in fact, they're great travel writers, could write a killer memoir, even write for magazines, but they suck at poetry. But ... they don't give up. And sometimes, they develop their talent. Through hard work and perseverance.
And yet ... if one sucks at writing fiction, yet the heart's desire is to write novels, should one continue to think one's prose was meant to wear walking shorts or should one really cover it with black pants?
I suppose our readers/agents/editors will let us know in the end. And yet, if one is a true writer, you just look down at your ankle bracelet and admire how pretty your legs are.
You never give up.
Blessings to you and yours.