Who are the mysterious ‘they’, anyway? Have you ever thought about it? ‘They’ tell you if you have heartburn when you’re pregnant, it means your baby will be born with a full head of hair. ‘They’ tell you if you cross your eyes and someone slaps you on the back, your eyes will stay that way.
Okay, so that last can be attributed to your parents, but you catch my drift.
For years I’ve been referring to other writers, the published writers, as ‘they’. As if they were a class unto themselves. As if being published put up a wall between us and them. And that simply isn’t so. Just because we’re part of the unpublished masses, that doesn’t make our words less important, less viable. It just means they’ve gone a step further than we have. They put their words out there to be accepted or rejected.
So I decided last week to start referring to myself as a writer. I am a writer. I am a lover of words, and lover of well told stories. I write, not because I can, but because I can’t not write. I may not be published yet, but I am still a writer.