It has taken me several years to think of myself as a writer. We all know that Jazzy's books are adorable but they wouldn't win any literary awards for the best plot or whatever.
When people asked me about being a writer, I often answered with, "Well, I'm not a real writer."
But I write every day. Sometimes my brain is so crazy that I only get in fifty words. On other days, I'm so focused I miss phone calls or am late for meetings.
But I still ask myself, "Am I a real writer?" These are the thoughts that rummage around my head. None of them are necessarily true, but that doesn't stop the plague they impart on my self-confidence.
Real writers sell books.
Real writers have agents.
Real writers have a following.
Real writers make money.
Real writers write novels.
Real writers get famous.
Real writers don't cry.
Then I ask myself. "Why do I care if I'm a real writer or not?" And that is the crux of it all.
I shouldn't care if my stories sell or not.
I shouldn't get upset if an agent says they don't want my work.
Do I need a bunch of other people hounding me for more words?
So what if I"m poor?
Many authors spend years writing one novel so I don't need that pressure.
I'm not J. K. Rowling or Stephen King. I don't expect to be famous. I can still write my thoughts and stories without fame.
All writers cry. I've seen it. It's the power behind their words that causes the up and down roller coaster of emotions.
I am a real writer. I must continue to affirm that for my own sanity.
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