a writer's irony

Let's say I have this friend- a bestfriend [Kristelle Dawn P. Fernandez]. And she has this friend, a someone who I know too but isn't that familiar, she writes. And she has a churchmate who writes. What with the avid reader that my bestfriend is, she secured copies of the short stories the two people abovementioned wrote. She followed every one, read them, and identified so litlle and sometimes so much with the characters embedded in the story. And with her being my bestfriend, she shared to me the stories which were not only deep, dark, but incredulously nose-bleed-worthy. Despite the fact, I read on. True enough, I could identify with some attitudes of the characters, and sometimes I just can't. Whatever the case was, the stories were still so great.
I don't know why but I actually reflected alot on the stories. They all start with paragraphs which discuss about the ironies of life. And in my opinion, for writers, that's the biggest thing we write about. More and more, we talk about them in our stories, poems, epics, and whatsoever form of writing there is left [and with I including myself as a writer, a beginner as I may be]. Somehow, when I read their stories, I said to myself, "why can't I ever write like this?" "why can't I ever think of stories which can take the readers into the story, feel the pains and the sufferings of the protagonists, and curse the antagonist?" "why is my ability to write limited only in blogging?"
I know. Blogging's not easy. It so isn't. But compared to the things I've read and heard, it's on the bottom step of a literacy staircase and they are on the topmost. The distance between them? 1o0? Or even a number I've never heard of in this world to depict an amount so large.
Many- in my view- have already complemented me on my blogging. And to them I reach out my deepest and uttermost gratitudes. But yes, I see myself only as a blogger. And not a writer. An incident in school earlier proved the case.
There was a journalism seminar to be held this coming weekend for two days in our school. And to be fair, our adviser asked us to nominate people who deserved to go to the seminar. Because who of all people would know our writing capabilities? Of course, the people who tease us when we say something incorrectly, when we use the wrong form of verb or wrong number of noun, and the people who praise us when we actually do good, our classmates. I was surprised to hear my name nominated by one of the people whom I attended review classes with. Apparently, he noticed that I got high scores on our grammar tests and vocabulary exams in the review classes and has praised me for my English since then. And then it was voting time. My name was called and I shook my head vigorously as if to plead people not to stand up. An opportunity I was passing by, but yes, I didn't want to go to the seminar. Call it lack of self-confidence, yes, I do think I don't deserve to go to such a seminar. And then, as if they understood my signal, only four people stood up. Then the person in front of me asked me if I wanted to go, and I said "no" so they didn't vote for me. In the end, I lost.
I always loved writing. I wanted to pour everything into words, to express myself through sentences which sometimes don't make sense to other people, and to let people know exactly how I feel by my compositions. But when given the opportunity to do it in front of a greater audience, I shy away and say that writing's not for me. Oh, what a great irony and dilemma this author has. :)