Inspired.
“How would you describe yourself as a writer?”
Recently, I was asked this question and didn’t know how to respond. Those of you who know me in real life know that I am not often at a loss for words. But this question did not have an immediate answer. Me? A writer? Huh?
I started off by saying I don’t really write much, but then I realized that was a lie. I mean, I guess I communicate a lot, but do I “write”? Sure! I write emails every day. And sometimes at work, I write articles for our publications. And, you know, I edit a lot. And I manage social media. But is this writing?
Suddenly, I felt challenged to define it. Merriam-Webster defines “writing” in 3 ways:
1) the activity or work of writing books, poems, stories, etc.
2) the way that you use written words to express your ideas or opinions
3) books, poems, essays, letters, etc.
Putting aside the fact that two of these definitions use a form of the word in its own definition, what have we learned?
Writing is an activity that expresses ideas and opinions
into an established format like a book, poem, or essay.
I get ideas a lot, but I can’t say I’m very good at documenting them. I’m a talker. I like to talk things out and then take action. But I know that in those moments when I’m drifting off to sleep, I get some pretty awesome ideas and they consequently drift off into slumberland with me, never to be retrieved. What would happen if I actually started documenting some of that stuff? Or the ideas that are just *so* good, there’s no way I’ll ever forget them. And then I do.
And opinions? Yup. I’m full of those of too. A lot of those I keep to myself for various reasons, but some of you are lucky enough to hear my rants on anything and everything. But again, they are never documented in the formal practice of writing.
Writing is a craft. One I used to practice a lot in journals and spiral-bound notebooks full of angsty teenage poems about love and loss. Because you know, it was really hard to be a teenager of privilege, with a roof over my head and food to eat and friends who cared about me. But somewhere along the line, I stopped writing. And I stopped crafting. You could argue a million ways about how that happened: I didn’t need the outlet, I grew up, I got a real job, I got married, I had kids, there was really good tv on that night…
The point is that I stopped. And it took someone asking me
how I would describe myself as a writer in order for me to realize it.
So this is my attempt. My promise to myself to practice my craft. I can’t tell you how often it will happen, but I can say that it felt good to write this. And I hope to do it more often.