When I Call Myself a Writer

I know there is much I could write about today, considering that overall the nation has faced more winter weather this year than in the last few put together. However, I think readers can just look out their windows for a healthy dose of winter beauty. Today I'm in a writer mood. A moody writer mood, so I think, ironically, I will write about that.

It all started with me reading Sherman Alexie's latest poetry book, so I blame him, really. It inspired me, as reading poetry normally does. It inspired me so much I got a creative spurt and, well, now I feel I can answer that nagging question all people who write ask themselves...

When do I call myself a writer?

Is it the first or fifth time I've been published? The tenth? Is it when I sit down to write a story I want to get published or offer to readers? Is it the moment that inspiration hits and words must be poured onto the page or I will go mad? No, all of those things are much more glamorous than the truth, or today's truth, at least.

Today, for me, it's none of those things. It's these things:

1. I call myself a writer when I lose an entire file filled with poetry that I intended to update and self-publish. I got so poetically titillated reading that darn poetry book that I wanted to revisit my own poet days, and I discovered that the ONE file I needed is nowhere to be found. I can't find my bongos, the ones I used when I did performance poetry, either.

2. I call my self a writer when during my morning shower I come up with a fabulous idea I need to write down and flesh out, but since I don't do so until around noon, all I can remember is the phrase, "She ate the bread alone, and now she knew why the spider winked."

3. I call myself a writer when the mystery story I've been working on, the one with intricate whodunnit angle I'd been so proud of, turns to dust before my eyes because I realize that there's no possible way that Mr. Veekas could have possibly eaten the dumplings while walking his favorite hound through the palace where Mrs. Toribund was found half eaten by frogs.

4. I call myself a writer when I can't think of a word that I know is just right on the tip of my tongue. I even beg MS Word's thesaurus feature for help, but all I get is the same five synonyms I've already used. Twice.

5. And finally, I call myself a writer when I get so frustrated about my writing annoyances that I choose to actually write about them in a blog post instead of the maniacal weather that has captivated the nation or Miley Cyrus.

I hope you are all safe and warm and having a great 2014 so far. Until next week, happy reading!


Angela Hood-Ross said...

I always enjoy reading your posts.

Natasha Moore said...

So we'll never find out why the spider winked?? LOL
Great post!