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?”
Whoa, there.
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.
Comments
Post a Comment