Somewhere in the dusty recess of my memory lies an anecdote concerning a well-known novelist (whose name I wish I could recall). He was invited to speak about his chosen craft to a group of anxious wanna-be-writers. As the story goes, the author slowly made his way to the podium and after a few moments of quietly scrutinizing his audience, he spoke. “If you want to be a writer, write.”
He left the stage to stunned silence.
His statement could be considered either profound or sketchy, but perhaps, instead, it is simply accurate. John Irving, author of A Widow for One Year and numerous other books, offers a similar but slightly more effusive estimation of what it takes to be a writer. “The way you define yourself as a writer is that you write every time you have a free minute. If you didn’t behave that way you would never do anything.”
I wish I’d accepted that logic when I first ventured into the field almost three decades ago. It took me several years and a heavy investment in paper and postage before I could hold my chin high enough to say “I am a writer.” (And yes; in case you’re wondering, that was in the “olden” days.) When my kids were young, I crammed in as much writing as possible between laundry, diapers and LEGO®. But I had not managed to acquire the one credential that would make me feel entitled to call myself a writer: I wasn’t published.
Having a signed contract when my oldest turned three did not legitimize the profession for me. No; I had to wait until I had the book in hand with my name on the cover and my photograph on the jacket. Even then, I was reluctant. Just one more book, I’d tell myself, and then I’ll REALLY be a writer . . .
Far too many of us equate “being a writer” with “being published,” yet we all know that persistence and talent do not necessarily equal publication. Most of us who write will continue to do so with or without a pay check. We silently deny ourselves the title of “writer” when we hold other jobs – as teachers, lawyers, doctors, cab drivers, waiters, or stay-at-home parents – occupations that claim the greater portion of our days. Because writing is confined to part-time effort, we are afraid to publicly recognize it as anything more than a pastime or a hobby, even when it is our greatest passion, even when our brains silently scream the truth.
It isn’t just writers who cling to the publication ideal. Tell anyone you are a writer, and their response will undoubtedly come in the form of a question: “What books do you have out?” There is nothing more discouraging than having to answer “nothing yet” or “nothing for the past ten years” only to witness doubt or confusion on the other person’s face.
To make matters worse, the unschooled public seems convinced that all writers live in mansions and holiday in exotic places. Words spill effortlessly from their pens or keyboards as maids clean up after them and present tastefully arranged sandwiches or steaming tea to fuel their creativity.
Ha.
Emerging storytellers, journalists, poets, and the like have proven repeatedly that publication isn’t the key to identifying a real writer. I’ve led workshops with participants whose zeal and talent have put mine me to shame. Sometimes they aren’t published because they’ve yet to learn about the submission process or their work has not landed on the right editor’s desk. Others simply do not care about publication. Imagine! And genius is not always apparent; with perseverance and desire, even clumsy scribes can blossom.
Keeping this in mind, I approach all those who love to write – young or old, experienced or inexperienced – as peers. Although I still have a number of books to write before I’ll be satisfied with my own progress, I want to encourage those who are passionate about writing to keep writing – and to call themselves writers. Published or unpublished, we share a common bond.
As Winston Churchill said, “Writing a book is a horrible, exhausting struggle, like a long bout of some painful illness. One would never undertake such a thing if one were not drive on by some demon whom one can neither resist nor understand.”
If you’re compelled to write, you know what you are.
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An earlier version of this text appeared numerous years ago in my column “InkWell” in WordWrap, the news magazine of the Manitoba Writers Guild.
Photo by Dan Lach and released on Pexels with a CC0 license.
