It’s really hard to call myself a writer. This despite the fact that I have had a few essays and op-eds published. There is part of me that still struggles with feeling like an imposter, as with so many of my female contemporaries in various fields. It begs the question: what will make me feel less like a “writer” (the quotes suggest the need to qualify this is some way, explaining it’s not my actual job, I’ve only written x and y, etc.) and more like a Writer.
One goal I have is to write a book. I tell myself that if I do this, if I manage to complete so large and ambitious a project, find outside validation in the form of an agent and publisher (not to mention readers), I will fully embrace the title of Writer.
This is a tall order, however. Many, many people attempt this and do not cross the finish line. The publishing industry is notoriously fickle, so even if I write a book there is no guarantee it will be deemed “marketable” enough to be published. So, why do I embark on this process? Because it is just that, a process, one that I think I will learn a lot from even if I don’t end up with the kind of product that I can hold in my hands.
I am going to post about the process of writing a book, without too much focus on the goal of one day sitting in a Barnes and Noble signing autographs as displays of my many books surround me (daydream much?). It’s a leap of faith or an exercise in frustration. Likely both. It means I will have to be a bit vulnerable, as the process of writing is never smooth and emotions tend to run high. If nothing else, I might find others in these same trenches who are looking for support and encouragement and are happy to send some right back to me.
Onwards!
Coffee and Empathy 