Coming To Terms With Being A Writer

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“Coming to terms.” It makes it sound like a task, a chore, a bereavement. It sounds like something I don’t want or maybe even something that I’m forcing.

Some days it does feel like I’m forcing it. I sit there with the laptop on my lap for hours and don’t write a word. I find any excuse to do something else, get distracted by the TV or the internet, reading about Donald Trump, Brexit or about the 3 million different ways Meghan Markle has broken Royal tradition today. I can’t believe how may articles there are on that subject matter alone. Enough to get in the way of progress anyway.

I know it’s not a good enough excuse. But those articles on Markle are equal parts trash and engrossing. Anyway, it’s all a self sabotaging ploy that stops me from writing so I don’t have to wonder if I may not be good at this writing lark or worse still, good enough. I can just blame everything else rather than focusing on my craft.

I wonder quite often what actually makes you a writer. If it’s your job and you get paid for it, then you can quantify it, even put it on your CV. But what if you’re like me?

I’ve never been paid for writing. I don’t have any awards. I haven’t been published anywhere (except when I won a poetry competition when I was younger and that doesn’t count because. It. Was. Shocking.)

What credentials do I have? Is it sufficient to just say the words “I am a writer” and talk your wishes into reality?

I hope it is because currently that’s all I’ve got. My words. My hopes. My dreams.

One day, I will come across a solid gold idea that under no circumstances gets swept under the rug. Or worse still, forgotten. It seems so odd that can happen but it really does. I’m quite forgetful, I’m the kind of person that walks into a room and forgets why I’m there! I’m not saying I’ve come up with commercial gold like Twilight or Harry Potter and then forgotten it, but I’ve definitely had a great idea and thought, this is amazing but I’m doing something else right now so I’ll write it down later, and well…I forget.

There is a great argument for having a notepad on me at all times or using the notes app on my phone (which I do use a lot more now). That way, yo’re always writing. Because writers have to write. I know that much at least.

As much as I fight the title of “writer” I know it’s what I am. I may never write a great novel, I may never finish a story that is more than a few thousands word long. But the joy of putting pen to paper/ finger to keyboard/ phone/ laptop/ tablet is indescribable, especially when I think or admit what I’m creating might actually be good.

External recognition does not make you a writer.

Publishing your work does not make you a writer.

Awards do not make you a writer.

Being paid to write doesn’t make you a writer.

YOU make you a writer. Your determination to write. Your joy in using words to convey emotions. Your never ending desire to write (even if you don’t succeed at doing it) is what makes you a writer.

I AM A WRITER.

I guess. perhaps, I have come to terms with it then!

xx woeful writes xx

Do you ever wonder if you should genuinely consider yourself to be a writer?

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