Writing: Art, Identity, or Profession?
By Barbara Linn Probst | August 18, 2021 |
During my years teaching social work students, I would begin each semester with an exercise called I Am. I’d tell the students to take a piece of paper and finish the sentence with the first thing that came to mind.
I am …
Some students chose race; others chose gender. Some would write a mom or Jewish or queer. I asked them to do it a second time, and a third. We talked about their choices and what they signified.
I Am is an exercise in positionality and perspective, essential for new social workers. It’s also a useful exercise for anyone to do, at any time:
How do I see myself? Declare myself? What is the most salient aspect of my identity?
Does it begin with how I think others see me, the assumptions they make about me, based on what is most visible—or an attribute I’ve chosen to reveal??
Does it reflect my place in society? My beliefs, history, aspirations?
I find myself remembering this exercise as I ponder my own sense of identity during a quiet summer when I have—gasp!—no book to promote. For nearly two years, as I launched two novels in quick succession, I was passionately (okay, obsessively) involved in my identity as an author.
That was, I discovered, very different from the identity that preceded it: as a writer.
I’d assumed, initially, that the words were synonyms, differing only in the implication that an author was published, while a writer might or might not be. It seems to me now, however, that there’s a more fundamental difference.
Being a writer is a private matter and can be for pursued for any reason I choose, from catharsis to self-expression to the dream of publication; no one else needs to know what I’m doing, why I’m going it, or how it turns out. Being an author is public. I’ve declared my intention, exposed my hope. My writing has crossed the line from avocation to vocation.
A public identity carries expectations that a private one does not—showing up when you say you will, regardless of your muse or mood; taking care to always offer an energetic, positive, gracious, and generous appearance—because you’ve become visible. Strangers are forming opinions of you and your writing. As expectations rise, so do the stakes.
As I ponder this question of identity, I picture a kind of mini-Barbara sitting at my laptop, tapping away at the keys, surrounded by three concentric rings. Each ring represents a widening definition of what writing means to me.
The innermost ring, very close to my skin, is the sense of my writing as art. It’s the product of my creative expression and comes into existence through a process that is intimate and solitary. It need not concern anyone but me.
The middle ring, like a frame, is the sense of my writing as an important part of my identity. It helps to define me and reflects how I spend a significant portion of my time and energy. People who know me will know this about me. If they think about who I am, or if someone asks, this will be one of the things that will come to mind.
The outermost ring—the largest circle because it’s accessible to anyone, including people I’ll never know—is the sense of my writing as my occupation. It names my profession, where I fit in society, and (if I’m lucky) how I make my money.
It’s this outer ring, I think, that causes the most angst.
My claim to the other rings, especially the first one, is based on self-declaration—on my own agency, and how I present myself to others. My legitimacy in the larger world—the outer ring, where creative pursuit shifts into professional status—isn’t up to me in the same way.
While there’s no licensing exam or educational requirement for claiming author as a profession, it does depend on some kind of public validation. But what are the criteria? A traditional publishing contract with a major house? That hardly seems practical, given that so many people publish in other ways; it would also exclude those who publish shorter pieces in magazines and online.
What about awards, sales, Amazon rankings? Praise from trade reviews, glowing write-ups in the media? If none of that has happened, even though I’ve published a book, my status in that third ring might feel shaky. Moreover, if my book hasn’t made any money—and might, depending on my path to publication and how much I spent on publicity, have actually cost me money—can I claim a spot in this public realm and declare writing as my profession?
There are no rules, no minimum number of books sold or money earned, no requirement to disclose sales figures. An ISBN isn’t even needed. If I want to respond to the I Am exercise by saying an author, who has the right to challenge me? Declaring one’s own identity seems preferable to awaiting a nod from an external gatekeeper.
On the one hand, that’s hugely empowering. On the other hand, the freewheeling self-bestowal of a professional identity has its dangers.
Minimal entry criteria means easy access and fuzzy borders. That can be hard on the consumer (the reader) who’s looking for guidance on what to read. And it can engender anxiety in the vendor (the author), leading to bouts of imposter syndrome, self-doubt, shame, and awkwardness around well-meaning people who are impressed when it feels like they shouldn’t be.
If that last sentence sounds suspiciously precise—well, it should be obvious that I’m struggling with this very question. The line between claiming one’s place and earning one’s own place isn’t at all clear to me, not anymore. Maybe it never was, or maybe the question has taken on a new urgency.
I wonder if others are struggling too.
Can we talk about it here, in the safe space that Writer Unboxed offers us? Which, if any, of the three meanings of writing resonates with you: art, identity, and/or occupation? Or do you think of your writing in yet another way? Do you think there should, or can, be criteria for calling oneself a writer by profession? If so, who gets to set them? Who gets to decide what I am?
[coffee]
Barbara (she/her) is an author of contemporary women’s fiction living on an historic dirt road in New York’s Hudson Valley. Each of her acclaimed novels (Queen of the Owls, 2020; The Sound Between the Notes, 2021; and The Color of Ice, 2022) was a medalist for prestigious national awards, including the Sarton Award for Contemporary Fiction, the Independent Book Publishers Award, the Hawthorne Prize, and the Nautilus Award for Fiction. Her fourth novel, Roll the Sun Across the Sky, launches in May 2025 and has received stellar advance praise. Barbara has also published more than 80 articles on the craft of writing and the writing life. She has a PhD in Clinical Social Work and has been a therapist, teacher, researcher, and advocate for out-of-the-box kids and their families. When not writing, she’s a serious amateur pianist and a traveler to spots from Iceland to the Himalayas. Learn more on her website .
Are others struggling with this? Well, I am, so that makes at least two of us (no doubt most people are)! I’ve always been in the innermost ring — writing, making music, and making art. Artist has been my identity. To move things into the outermost ring, I’ve learned teaching skills, graphic design, public speaking, and computering, so as to create events, support other artists as I would wish to be supported (golden rule of the arts?), and make websites to support all of this.
But the outermost ring as an author of fiction has been the scariest. I hardly think that much about my 24 years as a magazine columnist but it honed my writing, and I’ve applied the other skills to compiling a book of it. The fiction is the toughest nut to crack. My motivation has always been in the first two rings, and I’ve never trusted the outermost. My third novel took 14 years to finish, in large part because I could not picture anybody reading or publishing it. It fits neatly into no genre and although i think it’s good, and timely (two of the main characters are a veteran of the Afghan war and his translator!), I don’t think any agent or publisher would give it a glance because it’s longer than is acceptable to the industry. So i expect to publish it for friends, and may see if it gets any reaction on Vella. Okay, this gives you a window into my particular struggle with the three rings. Which one is ruler of them all?
Ed, your reflections have sparked more for me!
It sounds as if you’ve managed to navigate the three rings as a visual artist in a way that works for you, perhaps more so than as a writer? You’ve made me think of my “other art,” which is the piano. I study with a teacher, for my own pleasure and learning, and it’s part of my identity (my bio includes the phrase “serious amateur pianist”). But never for a second would I think of aspiring to move “pianist” into the realm of professional, which would mean playing publicly, for money, and require a skill level I definitely don’t have! As you imply, the third ring isn’t “better,” just different, and it need not be one’s goal. So much to ponder! Thank you!
Thanks for the post. I’ve often muddled over some of the same thoughts.
I’ve been working to be a writer/author for the past 20+ years with a couple of blogs and a self-published novella all without any recognition or money, my work basically going into the ether. The recognition and money would be nice, but I really don’t need it. I’m old and don’t have the years left to pursue traditional publishing. So I’ve resigned myself to consider my writing just something to do between now and the end. Sorry to sound so pesimestic and defeatist, but sometimes we just have to face reality.
Thank you so much for weighing in, Bob! One of the things your comments are making me think about is the whole (dreaded) subject of marketing and promotion. I’ve done it (a lot), and have a love/hate relationship with the whole process. Yet it IS the way to reach people—which is one of the reasons we do this hard/wonderful thing called writing, no? No one wants their tree to fall in the forest, unheard, but neither does every single person have to hear it. A few, for whom it was meant, even if we never know who they are. That’s one of the ways I’ve found meaning in this dicey, difficult question you’re alluding to—finding the line between resignation and ambition, where one’s readers are waiting. Thank you again for sharing your thoughts so openly :-)
Traditional publication is the goal of many fiction writers. Many of those writers feel in some way inferior until that goal is achieved.
However, what does it take to get over that bar? In my experience, a novel not only written with high craft but also one written with no eye on the prize: a novel wholly personal and passionate, however commercial or not, a novel that can only have been written by that writer.
Genre fiction that succeeds delivers what readers want but in a way they don’t expect or haven’t read before. Literary and mainstream fiction that succeeds follows only the rules that the story itself requires.
Art? Identity? Profession? Maybe none of that is actually important. Maybe what matters is less one’s sense of self and more the story one is writing. If you are deep in it you aren’t thinking about yourself, right?
Right. The story is your reality.
That is true for your readers too. They do not care who published you or how you think of yourself. They either are swept up in your story or not.
So, maybe the answer is not to decide where you are in the rings of self-awareness but rather to simply forget all that and just write. It’s not you that makes you a writer but your story, ask me.
Yes, that immersion in the story—the “zone of enchantment” when one is at the service of the story, giving oneself fully to it, and the story world is realer than the world one is living in—is something I’ve written about right here on WU. It’s one of the best things I know. But then there’s the “afterward,” when one has to grapple with how to give that story to the world. It would be nice to think that it’s all a neat equation between merit/sincerity/passion, on the one hand, and a place in the book world, on the other … but I don’t find that to be so. I’m happy with my own work and the readers it’s reached (who, yes, don’t give a hoot what imprint is on the spine of the book) but have seen too many others struggle to believe that it’s simply about the quality of the story. My two cents! Hope you don’t mind the pushback :-)
Not at all! I know that it’s a struggle to believe that “it’s simply about the quality of the story”.
So many things seem to belie that. For instance, work less well written seems to sell. Being picked seems to depend on luck, timing or what an agent or editor had for lunch on a given day. Sales seem tied to promotion, which disproportionately goes to successful authors who don’t need it, debuts are starved for the attention they merit.
On and on. It all feels so random and unfair. No wonder authors doubt and question and struggle. After a while writing for writing’s sake, for some, can even start to feel foolish.
Here’s the thing, though: every one of those unfair factors is misleading or untrue. Poorly written novels that sell well are, obviously, not selling because of their prose. Something else is appealing to consumers and not all consumers of books are the same.
Luck, timing and lunch are overrated. Some novels fortuitously capture the zeitgeist but that, I think, is because those authors are strongly plugged into their times.
Promotion moves the sales needle on debut novels but little. The more demonstrable purpose or promotion is to alert fans of an established author to a new title and to give those fans a sense of connection. Publishers aren’t idiots. If debut novel dollars spent directly equaled rising sales then they would readily spend those dollars, but it doesn’t work that way. Fiction audiences build over time and a number of titles. Publishers know that, though sometimes they spend lavishly on debuts anyway.
You write: “It would be nice to think that it’s all a neat equation between merit/sincerity/passion, on the one hand, and a place in the book world, on the other…”
Merit, sincerity and passion are good things but they’re also not the same as how a story is told. Think about it. Any story can be written two ways. In both cases the story is worthy. In both cases the author is sincere and passionate. Both versions are good but one version is going to outsell the other.
What’s the difference? Not worthiness, sincerity or passion. The only difference is the way the story is told. Now, it may sound like I’m saying that if a given author’s work isn’t getting attention or selling well then that author’s writing is inferior. I’m not saying that. Remember, both versions of my hypothetic novel are good. Both have merit. Both have readers.
What I’m saying is, every author is different and so is every author’s audience. If a newer author is not readily finding acceptance, is that a reason not to write? No. It may simply mean that the right story and the right way of telling it haven’t yet arrived.
I know many, many authors who pushed but failed–and then bounced back, writing from the heart in a new way because they were free of expectations, had nothing left to lose and were no longer afraid.
I have represented young writers who didn’t make it but later did, sometimes ten years later. Why? They were ready. They found the right story and a way to tell it.
To push back to your push back: Ask me, the struggle and the weight of expectation attached to the word “profession” are counter-productive. They get in the way of freedom and fearlessness, which are qualities I see correlated with success.
I understand the rings of self-assessment that you’re writing about in this post but why assess? Why struggle? Just write. That’s what I’m saying.
Struggle all you want, I suppose, but in the end what readers read is not your psychology but your story.
Thank you for your reply-to-my-reply. First, because yep, I DID think you were saying that if someone doesn’t snag a big traditional publishing deal, it means her work wasn’t strong enough. I found that astonishing, so I’m glad you’ve clarified :-)
And second, because I agree 100% about freedom and fearlessness, which are what (I believe) we have to arrive at, in everything—whether it’s our relationships, our art, our whatever—in order to find the meaning, joy, and humanity we crave. Thus endeth the sermon.
And third, because I really appreciate your point about time and timing and patience (though you didn’t use those words). You wrote: “It may simply mean that the right story and the right way of telling it haven’t yet arrived … and then bounced back, writing from the heart in a new way because they were free of expectations, had nothing left to lose and were no longer afraid.” I love that. My own mentor, the take-no-prisoners Sandra Scofield, has told me time and again, “Don’t play it safe” and “Stop rushing.”
And BTW the “three ring” image is simply a way to talk about an experience that is much more recursive and interpenetrating and messy. Putting things into categories that sound separate has its limitations (and dangers), for sure.
Well, you’ve got me going now, too! And now I challenge you to read one of my books and let me know what you think!
What a happy challenge! You’re on! Any particular one you’d like me to read? E-mail me! My address is on my profile page on our agency website, easy to find!
Thank you for taking me up on my challenge!
I love it!
I’ve just emailed and appreciate the opportunity to hear your thoughts :-)
Hey Barbara, thought-provoking stuff. And for me it’s an ongoing internal evaluation–and occasionally I struggle with my confidence. Especially being one of the very few unpubbed contributors (among so many stellar pros) here at WU.
I’m not the biggest Bruce Springsteen fan (I know a few, so I have a grasp of the required level of reverence, which I lack), but I’ve always loved his episode of the old VH-1 show Storytellers. I recently re-watched it. If you’ve never seen it, I recommend it. Anyway, in regard to the song Brilliant Disguise (one of my faves of his), the Boss discusses the many personas we all wear. For him, as for us, the outer, most public one, is necessarily an important one. The rub comes with the art, which is created by that inner circle persona you so ably describe here. In order to reach people, to do our best work, we need to expose all of the things our “brilliant disguise” normally masks.
Which necessarily compromises your third level. What we reveal leaves us exposed not just to public inquiry, but to assumption. Does the song Brilliant Disguise expose Bruce as a fraud in his marriage? Or is it deeper? Does it reveal his own insecurity in what Patti sees in him? Does he feel like a fraud, for veiling his deepest self, even within his marriage? Well, this outsider certainly feels free to draw conclusions. And I’m not even a Boss super-fan! Ours is not a life-choice for the faint of heart. Or maybe even for the completely sane…?
Hmmm. I like the idea of self-bestowal of professional identity. Next form I’m required to fill out gets: Professional Beach Stroller! Thanks for exposing the inner circle here for the sake of a safe conversation, Barbara. Kudos! Here’s to our brave exploration and the gift of its revelation.
Thanks for this lovely reflection, Vaughn. You open up an interesting question about the reciprocal relationship between inner circle self and outer circle perception. How we are seen, or think we are seen, by the public has an effect on how we see ourselves. I remember the very first panel I was on as a “real” novelist (back when we actually did this stuff in person) and I realized that I had to expose my deepest self, not hide behind the persona of an author. It was a powerful, life-changing moment in which the act of giving my book to the world changed ME. So yes, onward to our “safe conversation” here on WU and to ever-more “brave exploration and the gift of its revelation.”
Thanks for saying out loud what I’ve been wrestling with for a long time. I self-identify as “writer” since my living is made through writing text for the public (many forms–exhibitions, articles, websites, communications products), but I have written fiction since I was a child.
About 10 years ago, online fanfiction helped me jump from inner to second circle. I received tons of positive feedback and it propelled me to risk the rejection associated with the outermost circle. I secured an agent and traditionally published my first and so far only novel.
The last 5 years have seen my usual zeal for writing fiction wane. What had always been my joy (first circle) has now fizzled. Every time I start something, the demands of the outermost circle seem to squash my creativity.
I’m trying to come to terms with the fact that my identity as “writer” really means I have to write, whether for an audience or just for myself.
What an interesting comment, Robin! You remind us that it’s not a simple matter of “progressing” to increasingly wider rings. We have to keep toggling between all three in order to stay close to ourselves, our voice, our vision. I suppose the balance will vary at different times. As I think I said in an earlier comment, I really do feel that it’s a dance between writing “just” for oneself and writing to reach others—not for fame or popularity, but to connect and to give. And if it’s a dance, it means that the reader is the other dancer! I think of how performers like musicians and actors say that the response of the audience is an integral part of what they do; we writers may not be so different!
When I started writing seriously (circa 2008), I was doing it for me, to achieve my aspiration to write (and publish) a novel–to be one of that magical society: the wordsmiths, the writers, the ones who make the words dance to their command, at the flick of a pen. I was doing it for myself, and entered the First Circle.
But…but… once I became immersed in my craft, I discovered the Second Circle had ensnared me as well. Writing was absolutely part of my identity. People who knew me knew what I was attempting, and either cheered or sneered, as was their wont. (Most cheered). Many of us are defined by our labels–mom/dad, spouse, partner, worker, (in whatever role we chose or have had thrust upon us), friend. Some of us live with many of those labels at once, but adding “Writer” to the mix seemed to add just a bit of mystique and cachet that some of the others don’t. It is the same, I think, with visual and performing artists.
Ah, but that Third Circle–how do we know when we are allowed access to that hallowed ground? Who determines? I agree totally with Barbara that it presents quandaries not only for the artist, but also for the consumer. I, for example, am published through a well-established small press that relatively few have ever heard of. I never have, and never will, make the best seller list. I don’t have a ton of reviews for any of my three published books. So most folks are going to try my book(s) because a) someone recommended it; b) they met me and I convinced them to give it a shot (more about that in a moment); or c) they just picked it totally at random because they happened to stumble across one of my books and liked the cover or the pitch. But in almost all cases, it’s a gamble. There’s no plug by PW, or the NYT, or anything else which is going to absolutely validate me as An Author Of Note and someone they’ll look for in the bookstore or the library.
So, more about “b)”. I manage to arrange to meet potential readers. I managed to meet enough recently so over the course of three weekends, spent at the Maine and NY Capital District Renaissance Faires, I sold 378 paperback copies of my books. Hopefully those folks will enjoy them, and tell their friends (see “a)”, and perhaps someone will be friends will an editor at the NYT and I’ll somehow luck into “c)”. But until then, it’s all on me to force my own way into that Third Circle.
You describe the interplay so well, Keith! It’s been fascinating to me to read all these comments (hey, that conversation is what WU is all about right?) because there are so many different attitudes toward what I called the “third” circle, while the “first” circle seems much clearer. To me, if you’ve published a book, then you are a “real” writer. Period. I didn’t mean to imply that the status of “best-selling writer published by the Big Four with accolades in the NYT” is a higher one (whatever that means) but that we think about what “writer” means in different ways—all of which can be meaningful!
I am a Creative. A novel form is just one of the mediums I work in. When the local bookstore has a shelf for Local Authors, I know my book deserves to be there because I’m local and I wrote a book. Oh yeah, so that means I’m an author. That wasn’t hard to figure out.
I think you are talking more of imposter syndrome. Artists of all types deal with this. Unlike, as you mention, fields where a degree or license defines a vocation. Graduating with an MFA does not mean you can make “Art”. Never selling more than three works (hello Van Gogh) does not mean you’re not an artist.
So it’s not a degree or sales that define you or your creations. In my opinion, it’s also not the medium itself. I work in metals and academia writes books trying to define the difference between Art and Craft. It’s amazing how much energy is spent on them trying to decide if I can call myself an artist or not. It will all make your head spin and do exactly nothing to help you create your next piece if you go down the rabbit hole of definitions.
Two quotes have steered me as a longtime Creative.
1.) I forget who said it, but to paraphrase, “It’s the critic’s job to decide if I’m an artist. They get paid for that. I just make my art.”
2.) Patti Smith says “Fake it till you make it,” was the motto that she and Robert Maplethorpe let guide them from their earliest days.
So really, it’s very easy. If you feel like an imposter, just fake it till you make it. Otherwise, just create your work and leave it to others, who have some need to define you, to spend their time figuring that out.
What wonderful quotations, Ada! And yes, the “arts” (including writing) are far more subjective than the “professions.” When I was a clinical social worker, we had to pass a licensing exam before we could claim the identity, on the assumption that there is a body of knowledge that defines the profession, and that anyone seeking to be part of it ought to be able to demonstrate mastery. Not so with the arts, which by their very nature are subjective! That’s where the creativity resides that you speak of so eloquently :-)
You are waaaay further along your road than I am along mine. I’m still wriggling around in the first ring, and dreaming of whatever one does in the other two. My struggle is whatever I must do to improve the most recent revision of my WIP.
Since you are not busy promoting a book, I hope you’ll use some of that extra time and creative energy to submit more wonderful posts like this. I always get a lot out of what you have to say. I think part of the appeal is the candor and authenticity I feel in it. Thank you.
Thank you for your kind words, Bob! I try to alternate my monthly posts between craft pieces and thought pieces, because I think we need both :-) And BTW we never “graduate” from that first ring. I think it is always part of us, and an essential part!
Barbara, thank you for sharing. Your words of wisdom and your life’s work speaks to all. I think you are sharing every Writers nightmare. Some will admit it, some may not. I write but not for money. This past two years have been hard on all of us. I must admit my thinking about finishing a couple of manuscripts have been slow coming together. I ask myself if I am happy with my one and only published novel and the answer is “Yes, but who cares if I write more?” Our world seems to be falling apart so maybe this is the time for novelist like yourself to write that Feel Good story…to give us hope when we can’t see meaning in our future.
Who knows maybe a nobody like me can give Hope, Love and Support to my little world. We need not be too hard on ourselves.
Oh yes, Suzie! We never know who our work will reach, perhaps at exactly the right moment. Truly! I wrote about this for WU, which you can read here: https://staging-writerunboxed.kinsta.cloud/2020/12/09/unexpected-and-long-tail-gifts-you-never-know-the-difference-your-book-might-make/#more-65073 We are all nobodies, in the scheme of things, but we are somebodies too :-)
I don’t know that my comment will be commiserate with your experience, as I’ve never been traditionally published. But, that being said, I’ve never been able to place my identity in the writing world. I have no idea what category others place on me, either. For a while I was self-published author, but I don’t think I ever made it to “successful self-published author,” at least, not in other writer’s eyes. After the long gap between my first novel and second novel, I lost even that identity. I also lost my passion for writing, as it just wasn’t fun anymore. It was full of self-recriminations and self-made pressure. Writing only became fun again when I let go of my ego and the worries that I would never achieve the ability to call myself a “real” writer or author. Sometimes I slide back into that need for recognition from others that I have a place in the writing/publishing world. It’s a need to know that the return of investment of my time and energy will pay off, instead of enjoying the pay off from creating in the moment. I suppose that is the difference between an Author (with a capital A who writes for publication) and the dreaded Hobby Writer. Personally, I’m hoping that I can meld the two together.
Lara, this is all so beautifully said! I am with you!
“Letting go of that ego” and serving the story is where the magic happens, no? And then, afterward, we need to find (and keep re-finding) our balance on that difficult tightrope between writing because we love it, and wanting—desperately!— to know that we’ve been read and heard and valued (and there is no need to apologize for that). I think we are all the same, in this way :-)
Having just self-published my first book, I am also exploring these questions. Your words put my muddle into some clarity. I have been a business writer for many many years, but with this book published my first work as an artist. But the struggle for me is not about external validation or claiming my place. The struggle is about HOW do I want to offer my work to the world, how connected do I want to stay with it (do interviews and podcasts or just send out email announcements) and how do I see myself interacting with people who are readers. This entire conundrum has immobilized me. But I am also seeing that, as with writing itself, the identity cannot be formed separate from the actions. So I choose a next step, maybe offer to do a podcast somewhere, and then see where I land. I anticipate an “under construction” process as author as much as I experienced it as writer. Thank you for this topic!
Oh yes, you are speaking about such an important aspect of this question—how we choose to “be in the world” as an author, beyond just sitting at our desks writing … As you say, “performing” or “enacting” that identity goes beyond how I think about myself. What does it mean to me, to interact with the world from this identity? Thank you for this important addition to our conversation today!
Barbara:
Your post is an interesting counterpoint to an essay i just read on another writers website on the importance of the first sentence of a piece of fiction, how a few carefully chosen words can establish a character and foreshadow how the story unfolds, even to its conclusion. I wonder if there’s some overlap between how we know, or at least identify, ourselves as individuals and how we understand our created “others,” our characters.
What an interesting question! Yes, I think that each character I create represents a part of myself. Which characters am I uncomfortable with, suppress, fear, love, doubt? Oh that is a WU post in itself!! Thank you!
I’ve been carrying your essay all day in my head. I love the way you explore the different circles of identity. I miss the way I used to write when I first began twenty years ago, without thinking of publication. Though within a couple of months I began to submit pieces to magazines and I remember it was only after about a dozen or so rejections that my first story was accepted for publication in Ladybug and it was such wonderful validation. But the more I wrote, the more I thought about my audience, until it began to stifle me. So for the past 2-3 years I’ve been trying to return to that more innocent state and let me tell you, the struggle is real to let go of outside validation. I routinely take breaks from the business side and take solace in writing. It’s what has saved me, over and over. Thanks for this thoughtful essay and all the discussion it’s generated.
” The struggle is real to let go of outside validation.” Oh yes, yes! I think it is never-ending, but also nuanced because we want to know that we’ve reached people and touched them, so “external validation” isn’t the enemy :-) But to me it s a dance. I recently had four beta readers give me feedback on my new manuscript and of course they didn’t agree :-) I ended up just saying, “Well, you can’t please everyone” and deciding to just do what I liked!
And thank you for your lovely comment. It warms me immensely to know that my post has stayed with you all day = external validation, but of the best kind!
Excellent post.
I love that you had that exercise with your students. It reminds me that I used to do a “who am I” exercise every few years–I had a template with a half dozen questions that helped dig into figuring out what moved me.
I’m firmly in the “I am a writer” space the same as “gardener,” “reader,” “photographer,” “runner,” “card-creator,” and more. Catch me on a good day, a bad day, and anywhere in between, and I’ll be giving it my all. I’ll be trying to help someone out, I’ll be learning, and when when I’m tackling a big job where I’ve done only one small part of it, I’ll end with “it’s better than it was before.”
For the writer as who I am, it surely helps that I have only a few publishing credits under my belt. Even in my day job, where I’m creating requirements for what a computer system must accomplish, I see myself as a writer.
The art is part of anything creative I do, whether it’s making a card, snapping the shutter a hundred times to get a perfect shot of a bird out my window, and finding the story’s heart, the poem’s passion. Craft walks with it hand in hand. I want to tell the right story, and well. Sometimes I love my execution, sometimes I know I’ve failed. Then I look for the ways to fix it, probably because I see myself as that writer.
Thanks for giving us this exercise and question. Wishing you wonderful writing.
Thank you for returning us to the exercise, Shari, which is worth returning to. And yes, it’s all part of it, for me too: craft, repetition, passion, precision, struggle and joy! Back at you with the wish for wonderful writing :-)
Art, identity or profession? For me, all of the above. Writing has always been a passion of mine – one that only I seem to understand. But I finally realized it’s who I am, too. My writing is the only part of me in which I’m 100% confident. And I decided as far back as grade school that it’s what I wanted to do for a living – much to the chagrin of my parents. Now, I make my actual living as a technical writer. But I’m one of those writers who never expected to get rich and famous through my stories. The mere task of creating stories gives me great pleasure – whether or not it proves fruitful in this life.
You’ve articulated the essence of the question: it gives you great pleasure! Without that, it doesn’t matter what part of oneself it represents or will lead :-) Thank you!
To be or not to be a writer, or an author. I continually ask myself this question. Did publishing a memoir put me over an imaginary line I seem to want to see? And then I thought, what’s in a name anyway? As long as I keep writing, regardless if left in a slush pile or out awaiting publication, that’ll be my focus. Really enjoyed this piece, Barbara!