A COLLECTION OF ESSAYS

Ramblings about things done, seen, or remembered.

I am a writer.  Sometimes.

I am sometimes a writer.  That is, I like to think I am.  Occasionally.

I occasionally like to think, that maybe one day, I might, in some small and possibly insignificant but nevertheless appreciated by my mother way, be a writer.  Of sorts. Though, perhaps I already am.

I’ve discovered that defining what a writer is is not straightforward.  Am I a writer just because I keep a journal, or do I have to be published?  What if I’m published but didn’t charge for it or it was a single piece in a local publication only?  Is a writer of many moderate sellers more of or less of a writer than an author of a single blockbuster book?  If I write user manuals for toasters and 100,000 are printed, can I say I’m a writer (and likely one that has been translated into in several languages)?

With the modern day epidemic of literacy a greater number of people than ever before can place words in an order that makes some sort of sense, so how do I know if I’m a real writer? Someone that, when others talk about me they say, “Oh, he’s a writer.”

Other art forms have this discussion all the time.  Duchamp sparked a debate when he hung a readily available snow shovel in a gallery and said it was art because he said so and he was an artist.  So why can’t I publish a volume that repeats the word “giblets” 20,000 times and call it a novella?

“Oh here’s a nice Duchamp”

“That’s not art, it’s a snow shovel.”

“You uncouth commoner.  It’s on the cover of Art Weekly, it’s hanging in a prestigious gallery and draws paying customers from all over the world—it embodies the very essence of what art is.  What’s this?”

“My new novella, Giblets. It embodies the very essence of the word giblets.”

While many accepted the shovel as art I doubt repeating a word describing the edible innards of a duck would be heralded as breaking new literary ground.  Though to be fair, the hanging shovel debate was mostly among the art world elite.  “Everyday objects as art” was never really a big deal among those of us who call a shovel a shovel.  It was certainly never picked up by the Home Depot marketing department. “Congratulations on spending more than $100 at Home Depot today—you get a free piece of art.  Have a pair of pruning sheers and a packet of sunflower seeds on us. (Conditions apply.  Sunflower seeds may be substituted for other seeds without notice.  Employees of Home Depot and the National Gallery of Art are not eligible for this offer).”

Once upon a time, having your work published made you a bona fide writer, but nowadays the Internet has made publishing easy for just about anyone—and this is a good thing.  But I’ve come across plenty of blogs by people who are clearly cures for insomnia masquerading as writers.  Is it enough that they wrote and published something, albeit on their own Web site? 

How do real writers behave?

Real writers read about writing.  I have on my bookshelf volumes about writing.  How to write science fiction, how to write for children, a rhyming dictionary—and this is what the pros do—I subscribe to Writers Digest.  Oh yes.  How many blog types do that then?  I even own…style guides.  Yes, all writers agree, if you can’t punctuate correctly you are not a real writer.  But a perfect sense of grammar does not mean you can write something people want to read—the actual choice and order of words does that.  And it’s not like any real writer gets away with not having their manuscripts gone over by several editors who make corrections.  Knowing the rules of grammar doesn’t make me a writer any more than reading about delivery qualifies me as an obstetrician.  Actually, I can’t throw the first stone here, my grammar is not that great and I’m sure there are mistakes in this piece (some a matter of which style guide you subscribe to).  But blogs are riddled with them and you have to be at least passable for publishers to consider you.

“Your client has been found guilty of using a hyphen where there should be an em dash.” 

“What about his colon?”

“We’re still waiting on the doctor’s report.”

“Your honor, may I request a short sentence?”

“As long as it has subject verb agreement.”

“How long should the sentence last your honor?”

“All sentences should end at the appropriate period.”

I exhibit a behavior of most real writers in that I regularly resolve to actually do it and then procrastinate.  I resolved that my life would stop at 2 p.m. last Sunday so I could start writing 1,000 words about what makes a writer a real writer, and just two weeks later on a Thursday lunchtime I’m doing the first draft.

You’re not a real writer without a few good rejection letters and I have certainly have those.  As much as this makes me feel like a real writer I also have a collection of exactly zero acceptance letters, and lets face it, all rejections and no acceptances gives the impression of not being a real writer.

I write voluntarily, I think that helps.  I’ve got all sorts of essays written while I was at school, but they were obligatory which I’m sure you’ll agree didn’t qualify me as a real writer – once the assignment was given I had to write it.  Although, once an author signs a contract it could be argued he has to write, which, by that logic would mean he’s not a real writer any more.

So. Reading about writing doesn’t qualify you, but all the real writers do it. Amazing grammar skills don’t make you a real writer, but if you don’t have any grammar skills you are most certainly not considered one either. Having a few rejection letters is a sign of a real writer, having no acceptances is a sign of not being one. And writing because you have to doesn’t make you a writer, though real writers are under contract do just that.

In the end I think it comes down to two things:

You have to think of yourself as a writer.  Every published writer was once a yet to be published writer, so you have to keep putting pen (finger) to paper (keyboard), and produce stuff (which you make available to people somehow). 

Second, other people have to think of you as a writer too.  Enough people agreed the shovel was art to make it so (though I’m sure Duchamp’s established fame helped.  If Tolstoy had written Giblets they’d be trading for thousands by now).  If enough people consider you a writer, what you wrote, when, and for how much, is less important than the fact you wrote it, it was read, and appreciated.

And now, I can officially say that you have read something I’ve written.  Whatever you do don’t tell me what you think.  I’m quite certain a real writer doesn’t want to run the chance of hearing something negative.

Copyright © Lincoln Thomas 2006