What does it take...

...to be a writer? Or perhaps, more accurately... for me to consider myself a writer? To call myself a writer?

I write. A lot. I write for work, I write for pleasure. I correspond, I journal, I blog. I write reports, presentations, learning materials, newsletters, essays, online columns... sometimes even the occasional really bad poem or story. Fiction is not necessarily my forte and I tend not to share much of that. But words pour out of me. Hundreds, sometimes thousands of words. Daily.

I don't remember learning to read. I remember pretending to read out loud and making up the story from the pictures I was looking at, and then, I could read. I don't remember the process of learning to do it and now it feels like I've always been able to, in the same way as I cannot remember a time before I was able to walk or swim. But I clearly remember learning to write. Practicing the letters, joining them together into things that meant something and then into groups of things that meant something more. I remember discovering the freedom of being able to express myself through words on a page. And I've been writing ever since. 

So why is it that I find it so hard to think of myself as a writer? Let alone say it out loud? Writing a book is a dream that crystalised in my head when I was about fourteen and I received some encouragement from an English teacher who nurtured our words and helped us channel and craft our adolescent emotion and imagination into stories.  He made me believe that I might one day write and publish something other people would enjoy reading too and, ever since, I have had on my lifelist, write a book, be a writer.

Strangely, the fact that when I was at school I had my stories and poems published in the school magazine, was awarded prizes and asked to represent the school in writing competitions, did not count. When I was at University I wrote for the student newspaper, published newsletters for special interest groups, and had a story collected into a book along with some others by my peers. But that did not count. Does not count. I lost confidence in my ability and I struggled to say, I write. I am a writer. And I still do.

The dream was placed where dreams often are, in the distant future.

But this is the distant future. What am I waiting for? And what will it take? Those of you who've been sharing this space with me for a while know this about me - I have on my list for this year: 

• write a proper outline for my first book
• start writing the book

And several of you have actively and openly encouraged me to do it. Cheered me on and helped me dust off the dream. For that I cannot thank you enough. Just this morning, a lovely friend mentioned a character that she feels I should include in The Book. And there's where I come unstuck. Because as soon as I start to think about that, I start to hear this voice in my head say, Who do you think you are? A writer?! A Writer?!? Let's just say that this voice knows how to deliver a verbal sneer.  And it's crushing.

So I haven't written an outline. Most days I don't know what I want to write a book about. All my ideas feel paltry. I write notes, I gather thoughts, I read about writing, I throw down a few words and then delete them, I stall. And yet, the urge to write remains. Cannot be denied. And I don't want this to be one of those dreams that stays forever in the distant future. Something I might regret. I don't believe in regret.

So. A month ago, I joined a writing group. Eight people, some published, some not, but all with an interest in and a love of writing. We meet once every six weeks and, next week, I will be presenting my first piece for review. I'm terrified. Sick to my core terrified. But if I don't try, I'll never know if this is something I can do or not. Who knows what might come of it? Perhaps the books will emerge. Perhaps not. But I will be writing. And people will be reading it. And that's a start.

And then I think to myself, what does it take to be a writer? To consider myself a writer? To call myself a writer? The answer really is simple: writing, a published medium, a reader... 

I write. There's a button that says publish. You're here. You read. Writer, publisher, reader. Perhaps I am a writer after all? 

I am. I am a writer. I am a Writer. No, I am a writer. Big, capitalised labels scare me. But that's okay. I am a writer. For the moment, that works.

Now, about that outline...