It’s not easy to call ourselves what we really are: writer.
Mostly because there are so many things we think we have to do first. We have to get a book deal, with a large publisher. We have to get a thousand or ten thousand followers. We have to make it to a bestseller list and see our name in print in all the literary magazines, and we have to snag all the best interviews and do the work of being a big wig. We have to become something before we have the privilege of being a writer. We have to have an agent, we have to have a book in the bookstores, we have to check off all these boxes before we can really call ourselves a writer.
That’s not true.
Now. I’m not suggesting we swing to the other side of the pendulum, which I’ve noticed has happened lately. We can’t really call ourselves a writer if we’re just sending out random emails every few days. We can’t really call ourselves a writer if we sporadically send a letter to one of our family members once a month or so. The most important prerequisite for calling ourselves a writer is doing the work, every day.
[Tweet “What really makes us a writer is, at its simplest, the work.”]
Maybe this will help us get over our fear that we’re not really a writer, that we’re some imposter who still needs to do this or that before we’re considered professional.
Doubt can creep in when we use the W word to describe ourselves when someone asks us what we do. There have been times in my life when I’ve told someone what it is I do, because I do it for at least three hours every day, and they look at me with their eyes glazed over in disbelief, because, you know, everybody is a writer now. But you know what? I do the work. Every single week I crank out between 40,000 and 60,000 words. I’m a writer.
You are, too. Even if you’re cranking out 10,000 words a week, or 1,000 words a day or 500 or 250 words a day, you are a writer. If you’re doing the work every single day (or every writing day we’ve scheduled–because it takes a schedule to make it happen), then you can call yourself a writer, too.
See, we don’t have to have everything perfectly in place. We don’t have to prove that we’re a legitimate writer by having a publishing deal to show for all our work or checking off the list the world thinks we have to finish before we’re legit; we just have to do the work.
You know what’s going to happen if we’re doing the work? We’re going to get better and better, because we’re always practicing, we’re always inviting in the muse and then exercising it. And we’re going to be better at the end of that year we wrote 250 words a day than we were when we started.
This means, of course, that many of us are writers and don’t even know it. Some of us write for publications, and we call ourselves journalists, but we’re really writers. I called myself by the wrong name for years. I thought I was just regurgitating the facts and not using any of my own creativity, but that wasn’t true. I used as much of my creativity then as I do now, except I was telling true stories, and it gave me the priceless practice of telling the true stories of my life (because when you’re a journalist, there’s not room for exaggeration or untruth)—great training for memoir.
I know it’s not easy. Calling yourself a writer is sort of a scary thing, because people don’t really understand what it means, and they have their own expectations. The follow-up question that I typically hear when I mention that I’m a writer is, oh, have I heard of your books? And I have to say, Probably not, because most of them are out in submission and some of them have been self-published and only sold a handful of copies. But I’m getting there. I’m building a writing career, and soon, maybe, I’ll have more popular books. It doesn’t matter if I do or don’t. I’m still a writer, because every day, between the hours of 12:30 and 3:30 p.m., I stand in front of my standing desk, and I write. That’s enough. I’m a writer.
So what building a business as a writer really comes down to is the commitment. Are we willing to commit to the work of being a writer? Will we write every day (or at least most days)? Will we do it regardless of how we feel? Last week my family and I were hit by “The Plague”—our name for a stomach virus, because with a family of eight, it recurs in delightful cycles—and I still worked. (Sat down, though. Every time I stood up, my insides started climbing out. I know you wanted to know that.)
The other day I was taking my kids to the church nursery, and there was a new person working. She and I got to talking, because she was noticing my 3-year-old twins and she’s always been fascinated with twins (as the 3-year-olds ran in and destroyed the room in five seconds). She asked if I stayed home with them all. I told her, no, I’m a writer. She asked what kind of writing, and I told her. I’ve had lots of practice with this script, believe me, but still I found that my words were coming out sort of apologetically. Now. This has a little to do with the large family thing, and people expecting that a mom of a large family stays home with her kids, but some of it also has to do with not really believing that I’m a writer.
Even now, even after pursing this writing thing for more than a year, I had to remind myself: I’m a writer because I do the work.
Like I said, it’s not easy.
But we can remind ourselves, in those moments when doubt peeks over our shoulders, that we’re writers because we’re doing the work. And if we’re not doing the work? Then take out the schedule, mark off the time and get to work.
How to get started:
1. Start with some morning pages.
I do this every morning. I write exactly three pages on whatever I want in a composition book. What this usually amounts to is a brain dump—all the things that are swirling in my mind, leftover dreams or worries or things I need to do for the day. I don’t try to be creative with it. I just write. Sometimes I write about what I did the day before. Sometimes I write about the argument I had with my husband. Sometimes I write about how I’m worried about the 9-year-old and his attitude lately. This is not something intended for anyone else’s eyes, though sometimes I find the beginnings of a blog or a story in it.
2. Write to a prompt.
If you’re having trouble getting started, try writing to a prompt. I have a folder filled with one-word writing prompts. I’m actually using them to write a memoir right now. I take a word and write on it for as long as I need to (you can set a timer if you want and come back to it later). It’s amazing how many memories of mine are associated with the word “snake.” Prompts are great for drawing out what’s in our subconscious without much pressure on us.
I use other prompts, too. This year I challenged myself to write a poem a day, and I’ve been using quotes from authors for that one. I have a fiction project that I wrote based on the pictures a friend of mine sent me. Photos are great for stirring up creativity, at least for me. It’s probably my favorite prompt to use.
3. Call yourself what you are.
Next time someone asks you what you do, try out, “I write,” even if you don’t make a living from it. It’ll feel weird at first (and they’ll have a whole bunch of questions), but you’ll get used to it. But you’ll never have the opportunity to get used to it if you never say the words in the first place.
Week’s prompt:
Photos have an amazing ability to unlock our creativity. So write on this photo for as long as you want. Write what you see, write what it makes you think about, write what you feel. Just write.
