I’ve struggled with labeling myself as a “writer” for a long time. Sure, I’ve written stories, essays, journal entries etc. for most of my life – but does that really qualify me as a writer? I didn’t think so.
I’ve always told myself that someday I would be a “real writer.” Like when Pinocchio was magically turned into a real boy, someone would wave their wand and ta-da!
Until recently, I felt stuck as a wanna be – nothing more than a silly puppet with big dreams.
I’m not sure where the thought came from, but I woke up one morning and realized that if I ever expected to turn my dreams into reality, I had to start acting and thinking like a writer. The first step: calling myself a writer. It sounds so simple that it’s almost silly.
As scary as it felt to put myself out there, I trusted my gut and abilities. I started this blog and a twitter account. I remind myself daily what my goals are and have a clear plan to accomplish them.
I may not be published (yet!), but I now proudly call myself a writer.