Sure, they may say "But mom! We should all follow our dreams, and I'm super passionate about it", but don't let them.
They may say they're passionate about it, but if they were they would at least finish one story instead of collecting endless piles of blank pages with nothing but a single line of a vague idea on each one. These vague ideas will rot with time like the old tales with barbaric morals, and they're going to do nothing but distract your child from focusing on the pointless schoolwork that infinitely bores them, causing them to daydream all day and remain stuck in their own head.
This career will cause them endless pain, as one little piece of common sense may derail hours upon hours and lines upon lines of their hard work. They're going to eternally hate themselves as they contemplate all of the life choices they made just because of one little fable, ever-scared because they can't do their could-be masterpiece justice in the writing process. They're going to cry their heart out in the middle of the night as the harsh cruelties of the world reject the moral ideologies they put forth just because they're children stuck all day behind the damning computer screen, teaching them again and again and again what rejection feels like, and that the tears only come back stronger each and every time.
And the computer screen. Oh.
It's going to rot their eyes till they wear literal telescopes on a daily basis just because they wanted to get that one slang phrase from an indigenous language just right, so they sacrificed their sleep and pushed aside their schoolwork leaving them to flunk just so they could get exactly that. They ought to learn that life's unfair and that they can't just magically run away to someplace far away from the looming work deadlines. In school, they're going to be failing all their classes because of that unchallenged dedication, except maybe English class because they're the only ones who know what and regularly use the all—mighty—em—dash.
Then they're going to start arguing with their teachers about where commas go, and they're going to disrespect their elders. They're going to run, rejecting old traditions just because they think having the research and knowledge that goes against old superstitions could do anyone any good. They're going to stand up for the disgusting outcasts of society and villainized people in the media, and they're suddenly going to care about women's rights, animal rights, rights of tiny ethnic and religious groups and even basic human rights, all from that writing the perspectives and points-of-views of different characters had them consider the vastly different experiences of the other side. Writing made them develop a more complex sense of empathy, and perhaps even a heart.
A heart? Everyone knows that thing's good for nothing in the modern world on the verge of war.
The school playground should've taught them that ages ago.
They're going to experience colourfully beautiful experiences first-hand and really understand what pure joy, anger, malcontent, sadness, fear, and grief really is. Everyone knows that the other feelings are bad, should not be acknowledged, and pushed deep down for them to cause more psychological problems in the long run. Psychological problems aren't real anyways, they just worsen most physical health problems. Children who write dare to think anything but a fake, wide smile is worth seeing; they think they should appreciate the things that make life so unpredictable and worth living.
They're going to make unnecessary noise when they scream and jump for joy upon seeing that the publisher of their favourite book is going to have their logo in the corner of the cover of their little fairytale. They're going to write with all their heart pouring into their work and seriously lay their emotions bare for the whole world to see. They're going to annoy people they actually care about with another hundreds-of-pages-long remix of the same 26 letters. They cried with joy while holding a wood-pulp manifestation of their manipulation of 21 consonants and 5 vowels. Absolutely pathetic.
How dare they feel anything for imaginary people who understand and help them process their emotions better than any real person could?
They must be going clinically insane.
On top of that, they giggle maniacally whilst the person they're writing about gives the reader a hard time?
Only insane people can process the emotions of so many diverse and different people within one lifetime.
What's more, they rally people and hypnotise them into getting obsessed with these fake people. They help even more people manage the stress of the real world and properly address their emotions and experiences? It makes them feel that all the hard work they put into their beloved stories was worth it and has been exonerated? Sounds fake. Stress is fake. They're probably actually starting a cult with their tall tales and fancy words.
It's a dangerous pursuit.
