Chapter 2: Do I have to be published to call myself a writer?
I googled this question, as I assume thousands before me have, given the number of hits on the topic. In fact, there are so many I can’t bring myself to add to them – google it if you’re interested.
Short answer is, ‘No’ but of course, there wouldn’t be so much conjecture on the topic if it was as clear cut as that. (And if every aspiring writer wasn’t so wracked with insecurity.)
Getting published is everything, even if the thought of actually hearing from a publisher makes your bowels loosen.
I’ll say it again: Getting published is everything. At least it is for this wannabe author. I didn’t start out thinking this, but I know exactly when it became a big deal.
About half-way through writing my first book, I was talking to a friend at a party about my aspirations. She’s a ballet dancer. She’s only ever known me as a graphic artist, so when I told her about this book, she was interested to know why I’d switched to writing. I waffled on for a while about how I just love it, and how the characters are like real people to me; I went off on tangents about the plot, cut short about twenty sentences relating to subplots, apologised for sounding so vague, then skulled my glass of wine.
I know now, seven years on, that every writer needs to have their elevator pitch ready, both for their book and themselves, but back then, it surprised me how little I could articulate either. We talked more generally about how crazy difficult it is to get published, the infinitesimal chance of being plucked off the slush pile, how I was just one in a million, and after a while my friend said: ‘Well, you know, I guess it doesn’t matter if you don’t get published – so long as you’re doing something you love.’
No! No, no, no, NO. That wasn’t how I felt at all. It was like a slap in the face! I think I actually gasped. Was I giving the impression that getting published didn’t matter? She’d obviously hit a nerve and it gave me a jolt. I asked her if she would be satisfied with dancing ballet in her living room, with no audience, and she seemed to understand what I meant. (Mind you, she’s an incredibly accomplished ballet dancer who has worked with companies all over the world, so it was a bit like comparing apples and oranges, but still.)
I understood then, I couldn’t expect other people to think of me as a serious writer who wants to get published if I didn’t think of myself that way. I am a writer. I write. Every day!
