In university I took a class on Literary Criticism, which was one of the most interesting courses I completed. I didn’t do particularly well in it, but I learned so much. I kept all the readings, and still look back on them from time to time.

This course especially challenged the ways I thought about writing and reading different literary works. As an author, these challenges were sometimes confronting, and they especially helped me to grow in my convictions, or morph them into better ones.

One key topic I liked discussing was the idea of ‘great works’ and ‘great writers’. Greatness is so subjective, and often something we can only achieve posthumously—think of the Brontë sisters, Jane Austen, Henry James, Mary Shelley.

In class, we often discussed what it meant to be a ‘great writer’ or what constituted a ‘great work’. Its an interesting conversation, because it is so subjective. Yet, in the same way, we’ve managed to land on a select few books and writers whom most people would describe as ‘great’.

Modern day works are rarely classified as great novels when they are published, so its clear that time plays an important role in this conversation. We’re only now starting to see books be recognised as ‘great’ or ‘classics’ like The Secret History by Donna Tartt and The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins.

As a person, I’ve always been rather ambitious. When it comes to my writing, I want it to be great too. I’m not really sure what that means yet, though I am pretty sure I am not quite at that level yet. Writing is a skill, like anything else, so it takes time to cultivate. Most of the ‘great writers’ people think of didn’t create their best works until much later in life anyway, after years of practise.

Thank God I’ve started early, but it could be a long road ahead. It’s a journey I’m learning to embrace every day, though it isn’t without its challenges.

Fortunately, the first and most important step for anyone looking to create something great is to create. You can’t learn or grow without doing. Doing the planning, doing the writing, doing the editing, doing the publishing. Improvement comes from practise and feedback, so you have to get that cycle turning.

It can be scary, and the tough reality of feedback is that when you’re young and inexperienced, a lot of it is going to be constructive. You’re going to feel like everyone is showing you all the ways you are not good enough. If you can push through this, learn from it, you can use it to make better art.

Maybe—hopefully!—one day, it’ll all pay off for me…