Am I a Writer?

“I am participating in the ‘Writing Contest: You Are A Writer’ held by Positive Writer.” - See more at: http://positivewriter.com/writing-contest-you-are-a-writer/#sthash.HXT65GQg.dpuf

 I am participating in the writing contest:

http://positivewriter.com/writing-contest-you-are-a-writer/

“I am participating in the ‘Writing Contest: You Are A Writer’ held by Positive Writer.” - See more at: http://positivewriter.com/writing-contest-you-are-a-writer/#sthash.HXT65GQg.dpuf

“I am participating in the ‘Writing Contest: You Are A Writer’ held by Positive Writer.” - See more at: http://positivewriter.com/writing-contest-you-are-a-writer/#sthash.HXT65GQg.dpuf

“I am participating in the ‘Writing Contest: You Are A Writer’ held by Positive Writer.” - See more at: http://positivewriter.com/writing-contest-you-are-a-writer/#sthash.HXT65GQg.dpuf

“I am participating in the ‘Writing Contest: You Are A Writer’ held by Positive Writer.” - See more at: http://positivewriter.com/writing-contest-you-are-a-writer/#sthash.HXT65GQg.dpuf

“I am participating in the ‘Writing Contest: You Are A Writer’ held by Positive Writer.” - See more at: http://positivewriter.com/writing-contest-you-are-a-writer/#sthash.HXT65GQg.dpuf

When people ask me what I do, I don’t say I’m a writer. I never have. The words linger in my mouth, trapped, like the bubbles in the champagne bottle that you can’t tell are there until the cork explodes with a bang. I am fifty years old. I have been writing since I first picked up a pencil. My earliest manuscripts have faded with time, but I can still read the notes from my teachers. “Amazing…..you’ll be an author someday!” Or “I know you’ll be published someday!” 

I kept those words tucked inside my heart. When my high school English teacher slashed my work to pieces, I hung onto those earlier comments and told myself he was just one person. But his words lingered, too.

Over the years my word count grew. Journals, letters, short stories, poems, songs, and the beginnings of many novels. Just the beginnings, though.  Whether it was one thousand or ten thousand words in, I would always stop….defeated by the unknown, defeated by my own reluctance to acknowledge just how much I wanted to be a writer. Or did I? Did I want to write or did I want to say I had written? The enormity of the task before me pushed me under, held me in the riptide of uncertainty and insecurity.

When I turned forty I gave myself a gift. I signed up for a writing class. A novel writing class. And I told myself I would finish this story no matter what. That was the first class. There were others. Then there were writing conferences, critique groups, more classes. I finished one novel. Then another. I entered a few contests with short essays and stories. I always have a work-in-progress. Usually more than one. 

Do I call myself a writer? No. Not really. Not in a confident “THIS IS WHO I AM” tone of voice. I have been asked why I don’t. I don’t know. I suspect it’s because I’m afraid the response would be, “Oh, what have you written?”

And since the few published stories are unlikely to be known to the questioner, I fear I would stumble through my answer, fumbling for words, struggling to explain that while I am a WRITER, I do not (yet) have a New York Times bestselling novel on the shelves of every Barnes and Noble in the country. Maybe someday. 

But they are not asking for my life story. When someone asks, “What do you do?” they are looking for that “Where do you go every day? What do you do?” answer. And since I do have a day job, I answer with that. “I’m a teacher.” And maybe if the conversation continues and the flight is a long one (and perhaps I pull out my work-in-progress for a bit), then, and only then, will I hesitantly, reluctantly share my dream. 

Because to put my dream out there, under the cold glaring light of reality, is to be forced to examine it. To look at it closely and confirm for myself, yes, this is what I really want. 

Could I stop myself from writing? No. Never. I write because I am compelled to write. Writing helps me organize my world, my thoughts, my interactions with others. Does that make me a writer? I think it does. I can acknowledge it to myself. One of these days I will be able to share it with the world.