Some nit-picky person told me yesterday that I couldn’t be a writer if I was never published.
No, I haven’t been published yet. But let me ask you this, dear idiot: How can I be published if I never write?
I write an average of four hours per day after my kiddies go to sleep. It is uninterrupted and extensive. My fingers channel directly from my brain onto the keyboard. I write ergo I am a writer. You complain, you are a complainer.
I expect to be published within the year. I have no grandiose expectations of fame and fortune and I can already visualize the stack of rejection slips piling up in my secret file. But I can also visualize a story with my by-line appearing in a magazine, or at the very least an e-zine. I can imaging dropping my completed novel manuscript into the post to wing its way to a potential publisher.
I can imagine ergo I am a writer.