You know, I don’t really call myself a writer.
Even though:
I write as often as I can.
I am 9/10ths of my way through the first draft of my first novel.
I have submitted work to publishing agencies.
And I have earned a very small amount of money for words that I have put on a page, but I don’t think of myself as a writer. I feel like I have to reach a certain level first. A nebulous level of success that will only become clear once I’ve reached it. On that distant day, I will declare myself a writer.
I could sit and ponder why it is that I am loathe to name myself that way…
Hmm…could it be that I prefer not to be constrained by labels? Perhaps something from my childhood?
…but deep down, I know why I can not will not do not say I am a writer. It is because I am afraid of the scrutiny that I think it would invite. I am afraid people would disagree.
Oh Heidi, you are not a writer. You just aren’t. Not really.
I was talking to a friend today and I mentioned that I don’t look at a glass as half-full or half-empty; I just drink it. And that’s truly the way I approach life.
I do.
When I want something, I go for it.
When I want to know something, I find it out.
I try to live each day drinking life in instead of trying to figure our what it all means. I just do.
How can I bring these two parts of myself into harmony? The one who is afraid to declare what I want to be, and the one who picks up the glass and drains every last drop?
I can’t.
I can’t be both fearless and afraid.
I can’t be the both conqueror and the conquered.
Okay, maybe I can, but I don’t want to be.
I won’t.
So here and now
for the first time ever
I declare:
I am a writer.
Just don’t tell anyone, okay?






