My sister-in-law recently had her first writing piece published in an online magazine. The story itself, one about a childhood sexual assault, was not an easy read as far as subject matter goes. The writing, the way she wove the story together all while choosing the most precise words possible, was fabulous.
And then at the end of the article was the little blurb that describes the author. It begins with her name and ends with the phrase, "is a writer from Kingston, NY."
The idea of referring to myself as a writer is something I've never quite considered. Okay, that's a lie. I've dreamt of being a writer for at least 40 of my 56 years, but I've never had the courage to define myself by that label. Years ago, I shared my secret desire to be a writer with a close friend. She didn't give it a second thought. Instead, she replied, "Writer, huh? Well, I guess you best get writing."
I do write. For the last 12 years, I've been meeting with my wonderful writing group 8-10 times a year. Together we've composed and read a helluva lot of writing. I'm not proud of everything I've brought to the group, but I'm proud when I think of all the writing I've done.
Seeing my sister-in-law's name in the same sentence as the word "writer" was exciting, and maybe it gave me a little courage to consider whispering that very term when describing myself.
The Tao of Construction
1 day ago