A Writer?

Sometimes writing is just so overwhelming, whether because I have too many ideas, not enough, too many ridiculous expectations of myself, or just feel utterly inadequate. I’m someone who struggles with writing. It’s something I feel preposterous even admitting, as someone who wants to be a writer. Even more so as someone who is slowly beginning to call herself a writer.

Then again, what makes one a writer? Naming oneself? Writing? But what? How much? Is publication a necessity? How much? Where? Would my high school newspaper have been worse than an established magazine, made me less of a writer?

Is it how one writes? On paper or on a computer? Totally focused, regularly, sporadically, in spare moments, with distractions every few moments? I’ve done all of these.

Maybe categories aren’t the point. Maybe I’ve been a writer ever since I started my first journal in third grade. Maybe I’ve been a writer ever since I started wanting to be one, an event that’s much harder to pinpoint. Maybe it doesn’t matter, because I’m a writer now. Maybe it’s because of none of those things, but simply because God has placed the call, the need to write on my heart.

What can I do but write?

2 thoughts on “A Writer?”

  1. Great post.
    I struggle with calling myself a ‘writer’ too. I’ve come to believe that you’re a writer if it’s embedded in your blood, if it’s calling you to sit down and bleed your thoughts on paper. For me writing is therapeutical, self healing, a way to keep going through every phase of my life. There have been times when I asked myself “I haven’t published a book yet, so why call myself a writer?” or better yet “Am I an author because I write books or just a writer because I’m not published?” At the end of the day we must learn to push aside these thoughts. To be a writer means losing a part of yourself into your work, whether it’ll be seen by thousands or only kept in a dusty drawer till we die.


    1. If only it were easier to quantify that bone-deep knowledge! 🙂 It isn’t a hard and fast category – which is beautiful, most of the times, but sometimes it’s difficult to live with that nebulousness.


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