I’m currently reading a blog series entitled Mastering The Habits of Great Writing.
It feels a little funny to say it so boldly. It brings to mind a conversation that happened behind me in a lecture one day when I was at university. The girl was talking about how people don’t take you seriously if you say you’re an author before you’re published, and how she was going to start saying she was author even though she hadn’t had a book published. I remember thinking to myself, “But you’re not an author unless you’ve had a book published. You can’t make a living out of nothing.” But here I am, declaring I’m a writer, which is basically the same thing.
Although, I have had a poem published. Like, genuinely, sent it off to an editor who liked it and published it. I was 11. So maybe I’ve got one up?
I’ve liked writing for as long as I can remember. And I’ve always been told that I’m good at it. To be honest, I was a bit gutted because it’s not really cool to be good at writing when you’re a kid. I always wished I’d been exceptional at sport or dancing or drama. Something recognisable to other kids my age. When I started to get older, and liking to write paid off in the form of grades, I started to be a bit more proud of it. I started to write blogs, and share my writing with other people.
I’m declaring it now, because otherwise at what point am I going to declare it? My dream would be to be a published author. But I dont think I’m really going to feel like a writer just because I’m published. I don’t feel like a wife just because I’m married – I still feel like insecure, confused me. So I’ll declare it now, while it feels as true as it will ever feel.