I have been writing in a journal on an almost-daily basis since I was 17 years old. This is a record of me going through each entry from the beginning, and commenting on the me from fifteen years ago.

I always like to think I’m a good writer, but I really don’t know. I’m never quite sure, especially when rejection looks me in the face. I’ve never really had someone read my work and go “This is fantastic!” In fact, the last person who seemed to take an interest in my work was my English teacher, especially in my poetry. Tough call. Think it’s time I found out.

I did actually start submitting a lot of my short stories at this time, so it’s nice to know that I braved ‘finding out.’ It’s something you have to do, but it can be a little bit of a trap as well. Like any artist, if you get too concerned about what others will make of your work, then it stops being art.