And other sentences we obsessively say in our heads.

I mean, I really would love for people to read my books (in the plural, because I now have written two books! Can you believe it? I can’t).

I’d be elated if, when reading my stories, people happen to enjoy them. “Enjoy” is a bizarre word to use for my writing: my characters and worlds are everything but a pleasure, so I guess I mean I want people to like my work.

That want never ceases to feel wrong. It sounds like vanity. It always makes me call out myself: write for yourself first and foremost! You have never sought approval or praise before, so why are you doing it now? You are so vain.

And so I write for myself. I really do. You’d know it if you read my stuff: No crowd-pleasing, no life lessons, no formulas, no uplifting stories about the heroes we need and deserve, no true love. I’m not here to warm up hearts. I’m a villain creator, a monster enthusiast, a designer of nightmares.

I’m not afraid of the brutal ending. My goal is to make the reader think —uncomfortably.

But when the feedback comes and it is positive, I can’t help but smile. It’s just nice, man, let me enjoy it.

I have much to learn and improve, but I’m not afraid to say that I’m proud of my work, however messy it can get from time to time. I know I can do this. I know my writing has substance to it. I know it’s worth my efforts because it is, above all, honest —and most importantly, fearless.