I’ve been doing a lot of writing lately, which is great, really.
This summer has been, predictably, very busy, and while I have been a responsible musician and busted out my clarinet for some very thrilling (/sarcasm) foundational practice, those practice sessions have been far more sporadic than I would like.
But writing is easy. I already sit at my computer too much anyways, so it’s not all that hard to close that Facebook tab and open a google doc. Plus I like it.
Despite all this writing, though, I still do not easily or readily identify as a writer. I’m not entirely sure why not. Maybe because all my regular writing gigs have been online? Maybe if I had a regular column in a print publication I would consider myself a “writer?”
But I don’t have time for that. I am, thankfully, chased Has he busy with my current writing obligations and do not have the time for expansion.
How does that not qualify me as a writer?
Whatever. Self-identity can be weird.
Speaking of identity, I have a new piece up on Hevria today about identity and labels and brachos and how to deal with multiple ways to be right. Let me know what you think. And also what you think qualifies a person to be consider a writer.