I quilt. Bear with me, there is a point to this. I make beautiful quilts. They are quirky, unusual, stunning – ask me nicely and I’ll show you my Harry Potter bookcase quilts. I have no difficulty in calling myself a quilter, even when meeting fabulously famous quilters, whose skill I could only ever dream of achieving. I’m a Knitter too – see I can say that, and a dressmaker and a gardener and a brilliant, ever modest, cook.
And yet I stumble to call myself a writer.
I might whisper it, timidly, half-embarrassed if someone asks me what I do all day. I’m published, well one small piece. Does that count? Even winning a place on the A Writers chance Award with New Writing North and the fabulous Mr Michael Sheen, an award for working-class and underrepresented writers, I still struggle to name myself. I mean it’s all in the name, right? I might be a writer? I want to be a writer? I could be a writer? Even writing this I have deleted the phrase four times, fudged it, and looked at it sideways. Why is it so hard to say? I AM A WRITER.
I am a writer.
I am a Writer.
I am a Writer.
I feel silly.
The words rushed together because I said them too fast and now I think I may have convinced myself I’m an Amoriter …is that a kind of fossil?
So professional development step 1. ( I do love a list )
- Call myself a writer – be confident…. stand up straight…Don’t slouch…. Enunciate.
I. Am. A. Writer.
Sssh! Don’t tell anyone.