I’ve occasionally tried to explain this to people, and failed. My friend Tracy Ewans–at From The Laundry Room– succeeds.
I am a writer.
When asked, upon meeting someone new, “What do you do?” these four words are tough for me. Lately, I’ve been wondering why.
“I am a writer,” sounds silly, whimsical, not quite, “I’m a circus performer,” but close. They are fine words, even great, when I am in front of my computer, or when I close my eyes at night and wonder what the hell I’m doing. I tell myself, “I am a writer.” It’s what I do, but it doesn’t seem to ring glorious and confident out in the world, the real word.
The declaration, “I’m a writer,” is often met with, “Ah…” or “Really!?”
See? Sort of the circus performer or the ballerina response.
After the initial surprise, the next step is what I call The Legitimizer. People need to know if I am really a writer, a legitimate writer, and that always revolves around…you guessed it.
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