While I considered myself a writer, it was a long time before I was brave enough to say it aloud. There was a part of me that thought I wasn’t good enough. I hadn’t published anything more than a few articles for a local newspaper in a mining town. Did that make me a writer? Did I have the right to say I was a writer?
It wasn’t until I attended my first writer’s workshop, a few years ago and listened to other people about their aspirations, I began to understand it wasn’t just the act of writing words on paper, that makes a writer, but the desire to write those words. And all those little things I had done over the years suddenly made sense. Who else but a writer, would wake up from a dream and scramble for a note book and pen? Who else but a writer would be fascinated watching people and taking mental notes on how they react in various situations? Who else but a writer gets excited when given a notebook and fountain pen for Christmas?
It was at this first workshop I realised I was not alone. Some of the participants had been published, some had an idea but didn’t know how to put it on paper, and some like me, had written and drafted and wanted guidance on how to make the story rock. And every participant identified as being a writer. For me, that was a ‘wow’ moment.
Out of this workshop I met two like-minded people, Barb and Kay and we formed a writers group. (Check out the sites I follow: Amorina Rose Writes for Barb and The Wandering Mind for Kay.)
Now I have no qualms in saying I’m a writer. And soon I won’t have to add, but I’m unpublished!
Barb, Kay, another writer – Khalen, and I have put together an anthology of short stories with a theme of dark and light. We are in the final stages of editing at the moment and hope to self-publish by middle of the year.
Being a writer is not easy, but when someone reads your work and enjoys it, it’s worth the journey.