It always happens at a meet-and-greet party. Everyone is getting to know everyone else and, in the process, questions are asked, like “What do you do for a living?” There are inevitably doctors and lawyers in the group, those who receive due respect merely based on their professed line of work. Then it’s your turn. “I’m a writer,” you answer quite simply. More often than not, your response is met with stunned silence. A writer? And what does a writer do? You can almost see those trivial questions flashing across the minds of the doctors and the lawyers. Writing is a hobby, after all. Didn’t you know? People who claim to be writers always have a regular ‘job’ that pays the bills and they write in their spare time. Writing as a writer is not a real job. It doesn’t pay. At least, that’s the general consensus.

“So, you’re a writer?” The question you’ve been waiting for has finally surfaced. And, then, the real clincher, “How many books have you published?” As if claiming to be a writer is only verified by the number of books you’ve written and published. Forget all the short stories and poems. Forget the articles and blog posts. To claim to be a writer, you must have published some books, right? Oh, the naivety of the human populace. When will they learn that being a writer means you write, even if it’s a daily journal, or a lengthy, newsy letter (not the email or private message type)? At least, that’s what I always thought. It shouldn’t have anything to do with published credits.

Writing is my passion. It's a job, not a hobby. And don’t forget, it’s a 24/7 type of commitment. After all, some of our best plots unravel in the middle of the night as our minds never really blot out the current writing project. I find so much satisfaction in writing. It goes beyond seeing my name in print. The art of writing is what makes me who I am. It defines me. It makes me feel eternal, everlasting, and just a little bit full of myself. As poet and author, Diana Raab writes in Dear Anaïs, “I live to write/ so I shall never die.” Through our writing, the written word, we writers are eternal.

Ask yourself, “Who am I?” I know my answer will always be, “I am a writer and proud to proclaim myself as one.” What defines me as a writer? The simple fact that I write. I also know what makes me a writer. It’s something deep inside me, a passion, one that compels me to set pen to paper (or fingers to the keyboard), to craft a passage one word at a time.

I hate the awkward setting where I’m asked, no, more accurately, challenged, about my career as a writer. Those who don’t write don’t understand. It’s an art, a driving force that demands that I create using the written word as my medium of emotional output. It doesn’t matter to me if everything, or anything I write is published. I have at least a dozen complete novels that will probably never appear in published form. It doesn’t matter. I’ve written them. I feel good about having written them. And, perhaps, someday, someone, somewhere will read them and enjoy them.

Perhaps that’s easy for me to say since I’ve already published several books, countless articles, and short stories. But there was a time when I didn’t have any published credits. It wasn’t for lack of trying. I kept writing. I had to write. It was my gift, one I shared in multiple forms of writing: letters, stories, articles, memoirs, and books, as well as in public presentations and teaching.

I write because I have to write and you should, too. It’s who I am and who you are. It’s a great power to be able to wield the mighty sword of the written word. Are writers eternal as Raab suggests? I believe they are, as is the written word, the one that has appeared in some form or other since the beginning of the written word and the beginning of time as measured by the written word. “In the beginning was the word…” And, in the end, the word shall be there as well. So, write it well. Remember, you are a writer. So am I.