It has taken me a very long time to reach this point in my writing career.  Now don't go getting all giddy on my behalf (as if you would, right?).  I haven't got a publisher or agent interested in my writing.  This post is more of a shared introspection.  A realization of growth.

I am a writer.  

Do you know how hard those words are for me to say?  They feel pretentious.  Arrogant.  Egostitical.  Don't ask me why.  They just do.  To hear those words come out of my mouth has always had the power to make me blush.   I feel as if I'm claiming some rite of passage I've yet to attain. 

After all, a writer is published.  Read by an audience composed of more than friends and family.  I am unpublished and my readers are few and far between.  I don't have the luxury of sitting at home and writing full-time as I wish I could.   In the last five years I've submitted one manuscript to one publisher and received a very nice rejection for my trouble. 

So, how can I call myself a writer?  I have no idea but the words are coming easier.  I have graduated.  Admitting my desire to be published, talking about my submission and rejection, and sharing tidbits on my current WIPs (Works-In-Progress) is not something I usually share with just anyone.    But today I broke through a barrier and told a casual acquaintance, "I am a writer."  She seemed intrigued by the idea and asked lots of questions.  A pleasant surprise.  I only felt slightly foolish for my admission. 

Maybe next time it will be even easier.