I don’t think my answer is what the person asking the question has in mind. They’re expecting Nora Roberts, Janet Evanovich, J.K. Rowling.
I’m an author. I ponder and create sentences, characters, stories. I authored them; before me, they didn’t exist, so, yes, I am a writer.
The person then wants to know, “Are you famous? What have your written? Where can I get your books? How about a selfie?”
Yes, I’m published, but you won’t find me on Amazon, or Goodreads, or Forbes. I have sold a few things. Some very kind people read anything and everything I write, but you may want to hold off on the selfie.
Ask me instead, why I write.
I cannot pass up a clean sheet of paper and not want to scribble something on it. Anything. A list, a word, a memo. I find myself molding a sentence in my brain and remolding it until it captures my thoughts in words, sings of sincerity, and I have to scramble for pen and paper before it is gone. I have created characters and breathed life into them. They now have a standing invitation to dinner for Thanksgiving.
I know the power of words and they fascinate me. Sticks and stones will break my bones but they heal; words can hurt; words last forever.
Are you a writer?
Yes, dear reader. I am.