Writing became an important part of my life when I turned ten and started keeping a journal. It didn’t take long until fiction dominated my life, and I would spend a great number of my teenage years hiding in the bedroom, writing. There have been many attempted novels until after my bachelor’s degree. One of my short shorties made my tutor laugh so hard; he told me to develop it. My stories never really struck me as humorous, and it took me a while to see the black humour that made people laugh. I don’t know if it’s because I’ve read too much of Bret Easton Ellis and Charles Bukowski, but somehow that short story became a chapter in my novel. You may call it dark – up till now, none of my close friends have given me a clear opinion on the themes and underlying meanings of the book. It’s like they’re too scared to talk to me about it, and yet it would mean a lot to me. I left it too late, but I’m seeking professional critics/reviewers to review my book. I understand that this is how it’s supposed to be, as nothing can be any more objective than this. However, the thought of being misunderstood and torn to shreds is daunting. But doesn’t this happen to every single writer? Better be torn to shreds than not get noticed at all?