Pretend

So often this writing stuff just feels Pretend. It exists in solitude. The only thing I have to show for years of work is a huge Word document. On my computer. That I don't show anyone. Quite a bit of the writing only exists in my head. Sometimes when I do try to share it with people I feel crazy because I turn into wild-eyed up all night writing Emily and I get too excited and my voice climbs too loud. I tell near strangers way too much, too fast because they held the key to the introvert door and everything just came tumbling out like an overstuffed closet.

But I actually published a book. And people are actually reading it. That's real and tangible. So for the first time in my life when people ask me what I do I'm calling myself a writer. I've called myself a writer in my head since I was ten but for the first time it feels Real.

Twice in the past month I have listed my occupation as "writer." I listed it on the Parent's Day Out application for Little Guy and I told the student from my college calling asking for money that I was a writer.

It's more than a hobby. I have fans who want another book. That's pretty good motivation.