Writer. Not Author.

I was so excited to share the poem I had written about Spring with my mother when I was only ten years old. Then I read it to her and things felt flat.

I thrilled at writing news copy for local radio. Delivering it on air offered no such rush.

Many happy times were spent writing ad copy at an advertising agency. Seeing them in print with my by-line offered no joy.

Then I did the darn thing and wrote four children’s books. I was flushed with excitement as I saw them for sale online. When they arrived in the mail and I held them in my hand, I felt like a deflated balloon.

I realized I hadn’t said something out loud yet. I wanted to be a writer. I wasn’t sure I wanted to be an author.

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Writing offered me the life I’d been dreaming of since I was ten. A small, ordinary life with the freedom of time spent as I wished. No clocks, just intuitive flow. I could spend my day spinning sentences and weaving stories. Playing with words and magic and ideas however I wished.

When I’m writing, I disappear into it. My imagination flows with the words I write, whether journaling or storytelling. I love the thinking, the solitude, and the autonomy. I don’t need anyone watching and I can stop when I want. This is where I feel most like myself.

Traveling down the road a bit further, I began to learn about the marketing and selling involved. I would need to start explaining, repeating, and positioning in order to be visible. Constant engagement started to feel less like writing and more like presenting the writing. Yuck!

The performance and the other people needed to feel accomplished now felt like I was in the wrong room. The social pressure and sneering voices became overwhelming.

I battled these feelings constantly. This was the other side of writing. If I wanted to be successful, I should be marketing. I should be doing more. I wasn’t proud enough to push my books. Then I thought I must be doing it all wrong. If I were more serious, I would be doing this differently.

But I’m not avoiding the work. I’m questioning the version of the work. Writer is who I am. Author is something I step into as needed.

I love the daily life I’ve created as a writer. I didn’t build this life to turn it into something I have to perform.

And that’s when it hit me.

Writer is who I am. Author is something I do.

I’m not rejecting authorship. Technically, I am an author because I have published books. Moving forward, I may still publish. I may still share. I may still sell.

But I don’t have to live there.

I used to think my goal was to become an author. To build something visible, measurable, something that proved I was doing this right.

Now I’m starting to wonder if the goal was quieter.

To sit down, write what I want, and to feel at home in it.

To be…content.

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