I am a writer. I have never written those words down before, not that openly, bluntly or with any real conviction. I have never been in full time employment as a writer, so how can I justify those words? How can I type them on the page? The truth is, it isn’t easy, I feel like an imposter each time I say them out loud, I cringe away from the sound of my own voice, embarrassed to be caught in a lie. Afraid of being judged for admitting my dream, a dream which, although in motion, has not yet been accomplished.

It is terrifying to show anyone my work, to allow strangers or worse, friends and family to read my inner most thoughts, to see my vulnerability, my voice on the page, open to critique, judgement and failure. There is the possibility that in throwing my creativity out for the world to see, that it won’t succeed, that it won’t be good enough, that people won’t hear my voice, or connect with my words. Because of this, for a very long time I have hidden behind working jobs I am not passionate about. Earning money then rushing home to write. I have endured work rather than thrived in it, never gaining any real satisfaction or reward.  I have always found myself clock watching, waiting for the lunch hour in which I could write the time away, escape to another world, a reality which is narrated by me. I didn’t think that writing as a job would ever be something that could be feasible or possible for my life. It seemed like such a far fetched ambition and so I never disclosed this all consuming desire, not even to those closest to me.  So, I am ashamed to say that I continued to wish the days away and wonder why I was wasting my time, five days a week spent aimless and miserable.

It wasn’t until this year, I met a talented author, I told her about how I write every single day and have done this for as long as I can remember. About how I carry a notebook and pen around in my bag at all times, jotting down notes, pages and pages until my hand cramps.  The fact I have no storage left on my laptop from documents and documents of short stories, essays and chapters of books. I told her about how more often than not, the things I write will end up being for my eyes only despite telling myself that my goal is to be a writer. She looked me in the eye and in no uncertain terms, told me to get my shit together, she told me to be confident in talking about who I am and what I do because if I don’t, if I can’t say it, let alone believe it myself, then how can I expect anyone else to? How do I expect it to happen without actively sharing? After all, being brave and vulnerable is what being a writer is all about.

Those words rang in my mind for the days that followed. With that in mind, I am beginning now, at twenty six, to share my writing. Mainly blog posts, after hours of plucking up the courage to press publish. I am also working on a book which I hope I can send to a publisher in 2020 but more than that, much more importantly, I have let myself acknowledge my dream and believe I can achieve it.

The point of the post is not to tell you about my aspirations for the next year, or my fears of being a writer, it is to encourage you. If you have a big dream and this is something you really want from your life, don’t let it pass you by. If you dont try, you will always wonder what your life might have been if you’d just pushed that bit harder?

How might it feel to finally hold it in your hands? Would you still then be wishing the days away or clutching on to every moment?

Don’t let society or anyone in your life tell you that you are not good enough, that you dont have the right experience or qualifications, that you dont fit the model for that role or are just a bit too young or a bit too old.

There are no limits to dreams. If you want it, make it happen.

I am a writer. Who are you?