Reed vol. 65

Last year I participated in a contest, the John Steinbeck Award in Fiction, judged by James Kelman. I did not win, though I harboured some slim hope. And well, after the shock of my first literary failure, I simply forgot about it.

Yesterday when I got home, there was a package waiting for me. I didn't recognise it at first and it took reading the enclosed letter to remember part of the deal was receiving this year's issue of the Reed magazine.

I have it on my hands now, and though my name is nowhere in it and Benj Hewitt has the spot I thought to claim for myself, I am elated.

This is my first prize as a writer. Not the one I wanted, but the one I got anyway. And I love it. This, it's ... it's that moment when you realise you ARE doing something. I may have lost, but this seals my existence as a writer. I exist. I write. I didn't win but I AM a writer.

It's all I've ever wanted to be.