Work best left to the writers...

I've always been fascinated by writers of fiction. The characters they dream up. The plots they weave. The worlds in which their characters reside. so I decided to give it a try as well. As soon as i penned down a rough draft, I knew this wasn't my thing. ;'(
I got the first inkling of failure when I made the mistake of naming the main character, after my brother. But the character i had in mind, was everything my brother was not. Not to mention, my brother was bent on being a major pain in the backside, those days. That pretty much killed my enthusiasm of writing a book, especially one about him. Hey, I'm not Newton. Gravity hits him on the head with an apple, and the guy starts proving it exists. -_-
After a few weeks of plot-making and scene setting, I read Eragon. I'm no critic, but next to Paolini's plot, mine seemed like the product of an earthworm's imagination. A very, very, unimaginative earthworm. Paolini staged whole battles, whereas the best gunfight I came up with ends when my brother farts on a naked flame, setting fire to a room full of "bad guys". Paolini's protagonist, Eragon, kills the Shade Durza- a power hungry sorcerer, possessed by spirits he unsuccessfully tries to enslave- by stabbing him in the heart. My protagonist puts an end to his nemesis, by falling onto him from a two-storey drop. Who needs weapons? =S
That's when i realized, there was never gonna be a shelf, with a book written by Nadal Hadi, on it. =P