Years later, I had been going through some old papers and I found the old manuscript I had worked on so long ago. Was it really the bad? I thought to myself. I pulled it out and began to read it over.
It was every bit that bad. If anything, the class had been too kind to me. I was disgusted that I had ever thought this was worth showing to anyone.
I burned that manuscript and scattered its ashes. As I threw the pages into the fire, I threw any plans or dreams of being a writer with them.