IT is a dilemma that has probably gone on for centuries. When do you call yourself a writer? I frequently come across this question and it isn't just those new to writing asking it. Both established authors and those still only considering a career in creative writing, yet already dreaming of seeing their name in print hotly debate this topic. The consensus seems to lean towards the thinking that you need to have been published before you can call yourself a writer. I guess people see publication as proof of a someone's talent and creative worth, but I am not altogether convinced.
Personally I believe that someone is a writer (and therefore allowed to call himself such) as soon as he discovers a true passion for the art, as soon as he realises that he can't live without it, that he is unable to get through a day without putting pen to paper or fingers to the keyboard. I have been writing creatively all my life and it is no exaggeration to say that I would quickly become ill if I didn't have the opportunity to write down the thoughts and impressions which daily crowd into my mind. So it was refreshing to read Elizabeth Berg's book on writing advice in which she shares my view. She says:-
"Just because you have not been published does not mean you're not a writer. It is not signing a contract or taking money for words that makes you a writer. Rather it is having a certain sensibility, a measure of talent and a need to express yourself on paper."
I read a lot of books about writing. I love them, it's my craft, but some can seem a tad patronising, even to those new to writing. Most repeat all the well known mantras, like the only way to get published is to actually sit down and write, that there is actually no such thing as writers block and writing is hard work along with the pleasure it brings. Berg's book, though, is warm and reassuring, but not in a cloying way. She brings her own experiences to the table, how she started out, how she got to know her agent. She mentions, in passing, her children, giving the impression that she a compassionate regular human being who, through diligence and self-belief, was able to crack her chosen market and in return gain the magic of recognition, financial security and with it the freedom to work on her own terms.
Berg advocates giving up the job you hate and instead, if you need to, find part-time work that will still allow adequate writing time. Rid yourself of friends who don't understand your need to write. She even says you should tell your partner to go if he is unsupportive or crowds you too much. I suspect that she was half joking about the latter remark. Forsake all, but your children and their needs. They must always take priority, everything else can wait until you are ready to give it your time.
The advice Berg gives is always sound. She states matter of factly the things which, in her own experience, she found to work and those which didn't. Each chapter ends with a task for 'homework' and the book is filled with a plethora of useful exercises and writing prompts which should inspire even the most timid writer to give the art of writing a go.
REF. Escaping into the open : the art of writing true by Elizabeth Berg
Publisher: Harper Perennial (Jul 2000), 240 pages, pb
18/10/07
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