‘There is something wonderful in feeling the presence of the writer within you, of something wilful that seems to have a plan’ … George Saunders
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Until I began writing my blog, I had never actually called myself a writer. I dabbled in poetry as a child and thrived in it as a teen, I began to write short stories in my early twenties and thirties but calling myself a writer felt like a lie. A few of my poems were published many years ago but that moderate success never brought with it the title of ‘writer’.
Blogging opened up a narrow passage for me that eventually widened into an avenue. The more I blogged, the more I found my voice. And the more I found my voice, the more confident I felt about my words. I had to master that voice before I could ever be convinced that calling myself a writer was even close to being accurate.
Now my writing avenue has blossomed into a two-lane highway. I am drawn to that macadam and travel the road with more confidence than I ever have. The voice that I hear in the back of my head telling me I can write IS wilful and does seem to have a plan. The book that I had envisioned years ago, the one that sat lifeless in the obscured corners of my brain, now seems to be writing itself and using me as a vehicle to record its story and the nuances of its characters.
Feeling that writer within me come to life and feast on words is a feeling I can only liken to euphoria. There is something deeply intoxicating about being able to lose yourself for hours and create four thousand words of text that seem exciting and suspenseful. I can only hope that when I finish writing the book someone else will share my passion for the story and help me promote myself from the title of writer to published author.
