I remember coming in third place in a middle school poetry contest. I had only started writing seriously a year earlier, scribbling words that often made no sense into thick notebooks that, by the end, looked more like accordions. It was thrilling to finally be “seen” this way—my work validated, finally.

I walked into the lofty, carpeted room, chairs lined up facing the podium. I was going to share my poem there, and I don’t think I was even nervous—I didn’t really know what nerves were. I was beaming. This felt exactly like where I was meant to be—me, a writer! You better believe I got up there and spoke my heart out. At 13, it seemed only a matter of time before I would publish my own book—the restless, endearing excitement of a young writer who would later learn that her writing was good, but not quite good enough.

Me at 13, moments before I would read my first poem out loud.

For me, writing has always been a pathway into the self-expression of my inner world. I was a very expressive child, but somewhere along the way, I began to hide myself—and I found my mirror in journal entries, songs, and poetry. Writing became a place where I could be free from judgment, and there was something deeply satisfying about the ache in my right hand after filling page after page with my thoughts. I felt like I had something important to say.

Fast forward to adolescence and early adulthood, and writing was still something I kept up with. I even tried my hand at submitting poems, hoping to get published in renowned spaces—but to no avail. My Submittable inbox filled with rejections, and eventually, it made me stop writing altogether. I didn’t know if my voice mattered anymore, because it seemed like the world of publishing was telling me that it didn’t: I wasn’t trained enough, I wasn’t studied enough, I wasn’t deep enough, I wasn’t ___ enough. How many of us have felt that way at some point in our lives?

Then came an “aha” moment: if I couldn’t find a place where I belonged, maybe I should create one. And that’s how the Shared Drafts Project was born. Out of a desperate need for community and a sense that my words mattered, I created this thing—still not entirely sure what it is—but I’m excited to see where it goes.

Throughout my life, I’ve been conditioned to believe that I needed to wait for “my time” to shine. But the truth is, we can shine whenever we choose. Our untold works, our seemingly bad ideas, the parts of ourselves that make us cringe—they all deserve space. I think the lack of acceptance of these things is what has made us so cold as a society; we no longer honor the process, imagining instead that everyone somehow magically arrived exactly where they are today.

Our inner shadows don’t have to be dark, murky places—they might just be corners of ourselves we’ve overlooked. I believe our writing helps us align more deeply with who we truly are. I have so many works I’ve never shared out of fear that they’re “bad,” but maybe as a society, we need to get used to the imperfections of our own creativity and voices. Perhaps once we say the things we’re too scared to say out loud, we can be more honest with ourselves—and with each other.

The Shared Drafts Project is really just a space for the work we’re too scared—or too vulnerable—to share. If you’ve ever held back a poem, a note, a fragment, or a draft because it felt “too much” or “not good enough,” consider this your invitation to let it live.

Right now, we’re accepting submissions for Issue #1: Unpublishable, a celebration of the vulnerable, the flawed, and the real. Share the piece you almost deleted—the journal entry, the raw poem, or the fragment that just…carries your truth. Not your best—just your realest.

Submit Here and let your words exist exactly as they are—messy, raw, alive.

Your words matter. Let them exist.

#WritingCommunity #Creativity #SharedDraftsProject #WritingLife #Poetry #PersonalWriting #Unpublishable