Ever look back at your old works and realize that they were actually pretty bad. Then you remember, with horror, that you proudly showed those works to others and they told you they were good?

I'm pretty much having serious moments of that right now. Pulled up a folder full of old stories and *gag* poems I'd written for a Creative Writing class several years ago. Some of it's not that bad and a couple are actually really good. But most? Most make me cry. Especially the poems.

I generally can't stand poems and reading my horrible ones made me literally ill. A couple stories were kinda embarassing too, like this dream sequence I'd written. It was just gore, no shock or even terror while rereading it. The piece was supposed to emphasize the torment of my main character, and it didn't do anything like that.

And people read these pieces. I mean read them all. I even read a couple in class. I also noticed I have a thing for hoods. I already knew that but every "good" piece, aside from my Prisoner story, has a hooded cloak on the main character. Think I need to get away from that. Badly.