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For the longest time, when people asked me what I wanted to do after I got out of school, I'd stutter and fumble over my response, eventually managing to croak out, "I write." And when they asked me what I wrote about, I had an even harder time coming up with an explanation for my book. I can't count the number of times I stood with my head down, cheeks burning, stammering out a jumbled mess of characters and bits of plot.
The one I remember best happened with a good friend of mine.
The one I remember best happened with a good friend of mine.
He worked as a clerk at the local booze shop and I popped in to hang out with him from time to time. On this particular day, I was chilling behind the counter with my feet propped on an empty Jagermeister box, watching him unload the shipment of bottles they'd gotten in that morning. He stopped working and said, "So, you're writing a book, aren't you?"
"Yeah," I said, damning the quiver in my voice.
"What's it about?"
I cursed mentally--oh, how I dreaded that question. "Well...uh..." My mind reeled, trying to reign in at least a fragment of the story from my suddenly scattered memory. "It's about this girl who uh--finds this err...guy in the snow and umm--he's a vampire, y'know? And the uh...the girl gets into trouble with the vampires chasing him--wait, did I mention them? They're kinda important..."
Blood rose to my face and sizzled as I ran out of words. My friend stared at me for a while with one eyebrow raised ever-so-slightly, then he turned and picked up another couple of bottles. "Well, I'm sure it's better than that."
Yep. Needless to say I was pretty gosh-darn embarrassed. I'm pretty sure all that trouble came from a lack of confidence in my work. And that's okay--I really did suck back then. I read over some of my oldest stories the other day and wanted to burn them so no one could ever see the horror of my early works. I didn't burn them, of course. Because they're a testament to how far I've come.
As is my newfound ability to say I'M A WRITER without nearly passing out from the rush of blood to my cheeks.
I've got a lot more confidence in my writing. I know I've still got plenty of room for improvement, but DAYUM--I'm doing a lot better than I was a couple of years ago. And that's more than enough to put a perma-smile on my face.
Do you tell people you're a writer?
Why/Why not?
HAPPY WRITING, LOVELIES!


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