I am a… reader. But, a writer?
The books along my wall say I’m a reader. They whisper it from their thousands of pages. My overstocked bookshelf dedicated to teen fantasy screams it pretty loud. My special Harry Potter shelf—British editions (be jealous)—have it scrawled into their spine.
I read, sometimes too much. But, am I a writer?
I was a writer in 3rd grade, when I wrote a story about a hidden unicorn valley behind my grandparents’ house. In high school, I wrote about a horse stable fire in 18th century England that turned one girl’s dream of freedom to a duty to stay with her family. And now, age undetermined, I write about assassins and soldiers in a dystopian future.
But for some reason, I’ve never considering myself a “writer.” Don’t you have to be a published author? Or at least have a publisher willing to print you? Even just have an agent that believes in you? Does a supportive boyfriend work?
Wait, are you saying I can just call myself a writer, and it will be true? I can just write every day, even if it’s only in my head, and consider myself a writer? Yes, that’s a question.
I write every day. Whether it’s quickly jotting down my dream from the previous night (intriguing in their impossibility). Or pulling open my latest draft on my lunch break. Or having a conversation in my head with two fictional people that I’d created seconds before. Or updating my to-do list.
Okay, I see how that last one doesn’t count.
So, maybe I am a writer. My Rowling-size dreams say I could be. Maybe if I believe it, I will act it, and then it will come true! Even though that sounds fluffy and Disney-esque, it’s so happy! My dream can come true. So let’s start by saying it:
I AM A WRITER!
And a big thank you to Jeff Goins, who provided me a deadline to finally get this blog up and running. Please visit him and his inspiration at http://youareawriter.com/.