Why I'm Reluctant to Call Myself A "WRITER"

I think we’ve established the fact that I write; I do have a blog, after all, I’ve dabbled in fanfiction, and I’m currently working on what I hope will be a successful novel. The thing is though, I don’t tell people about my writing.

It’s ironic, considering the fact that I’m talking about this on the internet, where the whole world (or whoever reads this blog) can see it, but I feel really uncomfortable sharing my hobby with others. I don’t know if it’s common among writers or what, but every time someone asks me if I write, I immediately start blushing and stammering and trying to downplay whatever it is I’m composing at the moment.

It’s flipping weird and, to make matters worse, I know it doesn’t make any sense. I’m a writer―I should wear that title loud and proud, right?

Wrong. Here’s why:

Reason #1: The Prying. When you tell people that you “write”, they’ll ask to see what you’ve written and will keep nagging you about it until you show them a short story, or a scrap of poetry, or at least a measly blog post or two. Why? Because they need proof, Goddammit! They’re curious, and they want to judge you, to see if you’re really a writer or some deluded fool who can’t even write a decent shopping list, let alone a story. I made the mistake of mentioning my creative writing hobby in an essay for English, and my teacher went absolutely nuts. Sort of like this:

Teacher: Hey, I read your essay and I heard that you write! That’s great!

Me: *eyes with suspicion* Oh really?

Teacher: Yeah! Can you share your work sometime? I love to read that kind of stuff― you know, kid’s stories.

Me: I don’t know… (There’s no way in Hell.)

Teacher: But anything is fine! A story or a poem, anything that you want to share―

Me: (No, motherfrickin’ way. Not happening! Ever!) *smiles*…. I’ll think about it.

Biggest. Lie. Ever.

Reason #2: The Questions. Another annoying thing that happens when you tell people you’re a writer is the flood of questions you receive. When I casually mentioned my writing to kids at school one day, I was met by incredulous stares and skeptical smirks. “You write?” they asked. “About what?” And then I spent the next few moments stammering about urban fantasy and magic and other stuff that made me seem incredibly lame. They didn’t seem impressed, and I don’t blame them; that was a really embarrassing moment in my life. But then they started asking more questions, like “Don’t you know it’s really hard to get published?” and “Do you really write, or are you just messing around?” And I was so done.

My advice: Unless you want to play Jeopardy or Twenty Questions or something with your peers, do NOT mention your writing. Just don’t― trust me on this.

Reason #3: The Judging. Writers aren’t really respected in comparison to people who hold other occupations. If you don’t believe me, think of it this way: when you tell someone that you write fiction, you’re basically saying that you play make-believe and talk to the imaginary friends in your head for a living, like a slightly insane person. Now compare that with what a doctor does (saving lives). Ouch, right? No wonder people are going into the health and science fields― at least those sound good on paper! My parents are accepting of my writing aspirations, because they just want me to be happy, but my aunts are a different story. Unless I go to Harvard or Yale, or become an astronaut/doctor/lawyer, I’m pretty much a disappointment in their eyes. But is that a problem for me? No! They’ve already started grooming my nine-year old cousin to be the future president, so with an author and a politician, our family should be set. My aunts have got it all figured out, you see.

But the BIGGEST reason why I’m reluctant to call myself a writer is this: unless you have a book contract, money, or some or of acclaim, you’re just an amateur. A dabbler. An aspiring author, but not really an author. And that’s the difference between a WRITER and a writer― one is successful and one is not. Plain and simple. And until I’ve got some weight to carry with the title, I’m just going to hide the fact that I write from the world forever. I can’t go wrong with that plan now, can I?

Except… wait. I already wrote this blog post, so now everyone knows. And I already started a blog, where everyone can see my writing. Dammit. What the hell was I thinking? I should probably delete this whole thing in a desperate, last attempt to save face, but it’s written now. Might as well publish it.

Oh, and before I forget, here’s my playlist of the week (handpicked especially for you):

Playlist for March 7, 2014

1.        The Walker- Fitz and the Tantrums

2.        Ain’t It Fun- Paramore

3.        Hear Me- Imagine Dragons

4.        Afraid- The Neighborhood

5.        Some Nights- Fun.

So that’s it for now. I probably shouldn’t have spent time doing this, since I have to take the SAT tomorrow, but whatever. You only live once, right?

…Please don’t shoot me for saying that. At least it wasn’t YOLO (whoops, I said it).