When do I call myself a writer?
This question bugged me for a long time. In high school, I wrote a lot of poetry and completed one novella, but I didn’t consider myself a writer. In fact, I eventually deleted my story, and all that is left are the first two chapters which I recently found in the dark depths of my emails. I did not think I was good enough to ever call myself a writer.
Some of my poems eventually got published in my high school’s annual art book, Quintessence. Still, I didn’t consider myself a writer.
Throughout my freshman year of college, I experienced some rough stuff. Writing turned into a place of solace for me, so I wrote A LOT, mostly prayerful letters and poetry. Still, I didn’t think of myself as a writer.
After I transferred schools, I became extremely involved in my sorority and my school's dance marathon. I was so busy I stopped writing for a long time, save for the huge amount of papers and writing assignments that being a Psych major/Religion minor entails. I knew that I was good at writing in a technical sense, but I didn’t call myself a writer.
It wasn’t until the Ultimate Boredom™ of the Summer of 2014 that I returned to creative writing, and I finally put pen to paper (or fingers to keyboard) to write some of the stories that constantly roamed around my head. That’s when I realized writing is tough, but it is also fun. I became hooked.
And I really really didn’t want to call myself a writer then.
I started to research a lot about authors and other professionals, and I realized just how unlikely it is to ever make money from my stories. My odds of getting a deal with a publisher someday look a lot like my odds of getting into an Ivy League PhD program. I didn’t want to call myself a writer because I didn’t want to get my hopes up that this wasn’t just a phase, and that I wasn't destined for failure.
But then I did Nanowrimo.
In case you don’t know, Nanowrimo is an international online event in which you spend the month of November writing 50,000 words of your WIP. That’s about a full-length novel in most genres. It adds up to about 1667 words a day, which might not seem like a whole lot, but dedicating over an hour of continuous writing every single day for a month is actually a lot of work. Especially when you encounter that inevitable writer's block and suddenly your characters are literally just debating which is better, tea or coffee, for four pages until it ends in a knife fight because you need some kind of action and--
Well, I'm not saying that happened in my story, but I'm not saying it didn't either. You get the picture, it can get messy.
Regardless, I fell in love with Nanowrimo. I liked being included in this awesome and fascinating community of writers who support each other in their art. I realized that I really loved writing, and I loved it for the sake of writing and nothing else. My only goal was to finish this novel I was working on, no matter how terrible.
And, hey, I did!
I participated in two Camp Nanowrimos since then, and even though I never reached that 50,000 word goal, the words that I did write added up to a full-fledged 70,000 word novel. It’s absolutely a load of clart, but I am so proud that I finished the dang thing.
This November, I participated in Nanowrimo again, and I was so convinced that this would be my month to win. I prioritized writing more than I ever had, but a few missed days of writing added up to a huge loss, and I only clocked in at 37,000 words. It's not a win, but it is still a lot, and I am halfway done my second novel.
So, I am finally calling myself a writer. Perhaps I’ll never get published, and that’s okay. I never liked making art for money anyways. I want to finish this story that literally keeps me up at night and make it the best it can be. The idea of showing it to other people gives me mad anxiety, but maybe someday it will be good enough to share. For now, I am learning how to write because that’s what I want to do. It’s fun as hell being a writer.
Peace out,
Grace
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