Am I a Writer Now?

Right when I least expected it.

This is taped to wall over my desk.

Here’s the weird thing.

I completed my first publishing contract, and my publisher declined to sign me again. Then I spent almost two years trying to write a book that didn’t cross the finish line. Now I have a completed manuscript of a whole ‘nother idea, and I have no idea if it’s any good, or will get picked up by an editor, or published or anything. It’s weird and different and outside of my wheelhouse. So who fucking knows?

But okay—I was getting to the weird thing.

I have no contract, no release date, and a manuscript with dubious commercial potential—and yet I feel more like a capital W Writer now than I ever have. Ever. More than I did when my first book sold—at the time the novelty was so overwhelming that I had zero perspective on anything. And I had written one good book. One book did not make me a Writer.

I certainly feel more like a writer now than I did when either of my two books released. Release day, while exciting in a way, is also hor…