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.

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When you read a classic, you know why it is so. Desperately I wish that I had the ability to write so well. It depresses. Still, I must read & adapt my own skill to such a level. Classics aren’t made, they just are.

No, actually, they are made. A book doesn’t write itself – a fact that I am all too painfully aware of right now.