There I was.

It’s an odd moment, your first time. It’s unexpected, and less overwhelming than you think.

It’s not magical, but it is a moment. A moment that stays with you.

A lot of this applies to more than one ‘First Time’. But I’m talking about the first time you get published hardcopy, in that mythical beast A Book. About 7 years ago I was first published in an anthology, a tiny thing, my piece was barely 3 pages long (and rubbish), but at the end was an image burned into my brain.

And it smelled. It smelled like a book, a new book. No matter how many times you do it, there is no new online article smell. Bizarrely sniffing paper is slightly more acceptable than sniffing screens. But just to clarify, I wasn’t standing there at this book launch shoving inked paper up my nose. I remember being handed this tiny book, pages still stiff, and turning it slowly in a moment that felt it would last forever, to see it. My name was really on the blurb. I still couldn’t quite believe they would bother to put me in a book. Take the time to proof, edit, and sacrifice those trees.

But there I was. On a dark background, it took me a moment to find it, tripping over the names of the other women on my way. But there I was. I still didn’t believe it, my insecurity had blown into full-blown denial. I was suddenly very aware of my heart, which it seemed was also in denial, my natural rhythm interrupted. I felt my fingers move before my mind got involved. Opening the first page, then straight to the contents list. Eyes flickering down the page, darting from name to title, and back again and again. I felt my breath catch. My eyes started to prickle. There I was. Flipping through the pages careful as could be, each movement suddenly slowed as my mind started to comprehend what was happening. I expected to be somewhere near the back. But I don’t think I was, finding myself quickly. I dismissed my writing, I wrote the nonsense to inflict on everyone else, and I had no plan of reading it.

‘By Kirstyn Brook’

They had spelt my name right. Of all the things I could have thought, they had spelt my name right. They hadn’t made a mistake; I wasn’t a mistake.

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I wrote the above 8 years ago, it's been sitting in my Vocal drafts ever since. Almost waiting to be re-read and reflected on. One thing has changed, it's now been 15 years since I was published. And there is only one piece of that memory I need to make sure I remember for the next 15 years. I was handed that first copy, in a fabulously decorated Jamaican Rum bar in London. It is maybe more precious a memory than I could have possibly known at the time.

This one little book changed everything. I got my first review, and then a paid gig. Then more and more. I fell utterly in love with story and poetry, and in the subsequent years, travelled the world working, writing, and collecting marvellous and ordinary stories.

I have done so much in those 15 years, the most convoluted plot you could possibly imagine. Only to land back in the same place. I am still that child, marvelling at the hardcopy and smelling the spine. I still raise my suspicions when I see my name, and wonder if they know it's me they have published.

It is beautiful to know I was always me. I have never changed. Nor has my writing. We may have grown a little, but at our core, I can recognise us. My voice has always and will always be my voice.