I am a writer

even when The Question is hard to answer

(Pictured: Cozy blankets, note cards, inspiration, and a cat are highly recommended for the writing process.)

So, what do you write?

When you say, “I’m a writer,” there’s a natural next question. The “So, what do you write?” question was easiest to answer when I went into an office, sat down at a computer, typed a lot of words, and received a paycheck in return for writing about parcel taxes and school board meetings, or auto industry recalls, or conservative talking points (one’s 20s are filled with follies and indiscretions; please forgive me mine!).

That question was trickier but still not terribly difficult to answer when I published this newsletter on a regular basis and created a reading podcast with monthly installments; combined, they made my writing sound almost like a Real Job™.

But my writing life changed this year, and my easy explanation went out the window. In 2023, I have 1) felt more like a “real writer” than ever before and 2) struggled the most to explain what I mean when I say that. If you follow this newsletter, you may have noticed that I’ve published only a handful of installments this year. My book podcast has also been quiet after I wrapped season 3 last December.

I do love writing this newsletter — I wouldn’t be here again if I didn’t. But I realized that there was part of me that was clinging to publishing it as regularly as I could (while also being a full-time homemaker and working as an office admin for my day job) because I felt that its public existence justified my claim that I was a writer. Without it, I didn’t know if I could still let myself hold that title.

While preparing for this year, I went through a period of self-reflection about what I wanted my 2023 to look like. I knew it was time to let myself do less and to get quiet with my creativity. I set People Who Like Things aside for a while. I let go of my little reading podcast. I started spending time with a delicate new idea that was fresh and fragile as a newborn and could only be held with great care.

When the idea grew strong enough, I started writing. I wrote and wrote and wrote and we’re now in October at the time of this writing, and the idea isn’t done with me yet. I’m closer to writing “the end,” and yes, it would be nice if that happened before this year is over, but I don’t know if it will. Nobody has read any of my pages; I haven’t even shared the idea with anyone else.

But I’m a writer. I’m a writer not because someone else has read and enjoyed my writing, or because I publish things myself on the internet for you, as much as I value both of those things. I’m a writer because I keep showing up and entertaining an idea that’s come to me and asked to be written. I’m a writer because I keep saving more pages. I’m a writer because I’ve learned to give myself that breathing space to reread the sentence I’ve just put down, backspace over it, and tweak the wording until I’m more certain it’s what I’m trying to say.

If you long to create, or if you’re already an artist of any medium, please know that’s all that’s required to claim your title. To show up for your ideas, to put in the time and care, to do the thing. If other people can connect with your art later, that’s a wonderful bonus, but here, in the space where it’s just you getting very very quiet with work that’s calling to you, is where art happens. It’s enough. You’re enough.