Monday, July 16, 2007
Somebody thinks I rock!
I opened my inbox yesterday.
Imagine my surprise when I found out that my blog - the litterbox was chosen for the "Rockin' Girl Blogger" award!
Not something to brush off when I share the honor with mega-blogs like ragamuffindiva, relevantblog and gracereign! I mean, those gals are REAL writers as in PUBLISHED folk.
Okay, so I'm published...
but not books...
I guess I'm still not considering my self a "real" writer. I've been writing steadily for over a year now - articles, blogs, book & CD reviews.
Why am I hesitant to list myself among the legit?
Precisely, what defines a bonafide writer?
Someone who can spell? Someone who can diagram sentences while making monkey bread? Someone who can quote classic prose in the security line at the airport? A person who gets PAID for melding words and phrases? A hermit, holed up in a drafty cottage with a rickety Smith-Corona?
I'm none of those things. I do drink coffee.
My hang up is the money thing. How can I call myself a professional writer if I very rarely get paid for what I do best?
I'm under a lot of pressure from the budget powers that be to either start making $$ from my writing, or find a "real" job.
To me, "real-job" = something I'd hate doing.
Been there, done that. Hated every minute of it.
Yet I struggle to write.
What if I can't sell this? What if it takes years to find a home for my book? How am I going to pay off my student loans? I've deferred them as much as I can, and need to find the money two months ago...
I'm discovering that worry, and lack of faith are biggie creativity slayers. Also, my fear of naming myself as a writer...
Ahhh, there it is... fear.
If I call myself a writer, I'm under the belief I must succeed. I must become the next JK Rowling (after all, Harry's done come August). If I fail... then what?
Been on that gnarly path before...
Here's my prayer today: Jesus, I believe you called me to be a writer. Help me with my doubt.