Today, I updated my Twitter bio.
It now reads: writer/thinker/lover of Jesus and people and words and life. frequently frustrated by character limits. (Follow me here)
Notice the first word? Writer.
For a long time I’ve resisted taking on that designation; it almost feels as if I do the word a disservice if I use it where it doesn’t belong. It feels as though it undercuts real writers if I throw it around, simply trying it on for size.
But if the definition of the word is simply someone who partakes of the act of writing, I guess I qualify. I write in this space, I write to clear my head, I have even been fortunate enough to have a couple pieces published elsewhere. Added up, I suppose that makes me a writer.
Do I feel like a writer? No.
Do I act like a writer? I don’t know; I’m not sure there’s a defined way writers do or are supposed to act.
Do I write like a writer? I guess maybe so, in that I partake in the act of writing. Right now I’m even writing about writing, if that means anything.
Maybe it’s just important that I’m beginning to think of myself as a writer. Putting labels on people is often demeaning and unhelpful, but perhaps “writer” is one label I need to begin to wear.
The next time I introduce myself, will I say, “Hi, I’m Brianna, I’m a writer”?
Probably not the next time, or the time after, or the time after that, or even next year or three years from now.
It’s quite possible I’ll never introduce myself that way, though I’ve been wrong before.
Even if I never name myself as such in an introduction, “writer” is a label I think I need to start to use–if only so that I start believing it myself.
Til next time…