Recently, on two separate occasions, I professed I was a writer. Each time, my declaration startled me. I quickly fumbled and confessed that my writing consisted of note writing and blogging. I made certain the people to whom I was speaking knew I was neither a published writer nor a paid writer.
What triggered my claim? My boys.
See, I was meeting with their teachers, and both teachers made a point to say that the boys had a passion for writing. According to the teachers, my oldest loves writing in his journal at school, and my youngest loves writing notes throughout his school day.
Their creations are not limited to stories, either. Charlie loves to draw pictures. His favorite assignment in class is having to draw a picture based on a sentence written by the teacher. His teacher informed me that later in the year, she draws a picture and asks the kids to write a sentence or two about the picture. I look forward to that task. The writer in me is excited to see what Charlie will create.
Yes, the writer in me.
Now Joe … Joe does not limit his writing to stories. Joe loves to write equations and create worksheets. Truth be told, when home, Joe creates more worksheets and equations than stories. I was surprised when his teacher informed me he looks forward to writing in his journal every day. She added that she was very impressed with his storytelling skills. The writer in me is proud of Joe.
Yes, the writer in me.
When the teachers shared the above information with me, my heart swelled. I was thrilled to see my sons shared with me a passion for writing. Then, to the teachers I professed with confidence, “I am a writer.” Sure, I back-peddled a bit, but saying ‘I am a writer‘ out loud felt wonderful.
I am a writer. No, I have not won awards. No, I do not have any published books, novels, scripts, short stories, etc. Still, I write. Writing comes naturally to me. I write as easily as a I breathe. Stories and thoughts are constantly streaming through my mind, and if I could – I’d escape to some remote place and spend hours, days and weeks writing. Just writing. (Well, I’d eat ice cream and watch movies, too.)
Writing brings me pleasure. Writing allows me a chance to explore and try to understand the ways of the world. Writing helps me find peace. Writing lets me tap into my inner creativity and sense of humor, both of which are filled with craziness. As a result, regardless of how many people read what I write, I will continue to write.
Read my words: I am a writer.