It dawned on me today that…I am a writer.
Of course, I’m neither famous, nor professional (meaning I make money) nor consistent, but a writer I am. I am a poet and a storyteller. Also, I can write essays like a
rockstar. Okay, scratch that, maybe not a rockstar. Bad example. Still, I write.
Claiming the title of writer, however, seems akin to opening Pandora’s Box–all sorts of negative crap will likely be tossed at you, especially if you decide that writing will be a significant part of your career plans.
Being a writer, until you achieve a significant level of fame, will likely be an uncelebrated and solitary journey. It’s you and your pen (or your keyboard). You, holed up in your room at the earliest hours of the morning asking yourself questions like, “Why am I doing this?”, “Why is my character doing this?”, “Why are words avoiding me like I have the plague??!” You may struggle with words, self-doubt, general anxiety for your future because you know how much the average writer makes and are sure you need to have a retirement plan in place at some point. Just a thought there.
Despite the drama of being a writer, I’ve decided to accept the title. After all, I can look at my bookshelf and see a book in which my writing was published, even if my name isn’t on the cover. 😉
Being a writer is about discipline (or for some, lots of alcohol and self-destruction). It means taking the risk of your inner world being utterly rejected by those around you. Deciding to be a writer (not just claim it) is an arduous task that involves a whole heap of self-questioning and, ultimately, self-determination.
2016 begins my resolution to be a writer, to live through and by my words. Poet, author, essayist, whatever…I don’t care much about the titles. I only desire to tell my truth. What about you?