The problem with writing, or for that matter performing, is that eventually, if you're not insanely shy, you want to know if what you do is any good. You want, and in order to grow, need feedback.

I'm a musician, and I love performing once I get over the hideous stage fright bit. I also write both poetry and fiction.

Now I'm told that what I write is good, but I'm told that by people who love me, people who know me, and people who would probably not want to hurt me. So, honestly I can't trust a word they say. Sad, but the truth.

Ergo here I am, not only leaping out of the closet to a total bunch of strangers, but also presenting slivers of the deeper bits of my psyche in the form of fiction.

I guess I couldn't be bearing my soul in a better place.

Anyway Albert's Day is a serial and I've put up chapter one... With trepidation.

In other news I've decided I really am going to bed. Now.