There is something nice about taking the wimpy writer route. I get up while everyone else is asleep, write with no one around to criticize why on earth I would bother with this, put the laptop away a half hour later when my ride to the gym picks me up. Forget that I am a writer for the rest of day and start over the next day.
I do this so early in the morning that I don’t have the energy or the presence of mind for existentialist crisis (although being French, existentialist is pretty much a genetic thing). And I can pretend to my family that I am a dabbler (what, you mean this little hobby of mine?) while really, deep inside, I want to be NY published again even if it takes me years to get there.
I don’t have to have those fights anymore to justify what I do. And since I did some writing first thing in the day, I don’t have that nagging guilt, that yes I should be writing now (and not watch marathons of Buffy on Netflix again)
So yes, I am pretty wimpy. I write, I’m not a writer. I don’t feel the need to tell people at parties that I write when they ask what I do (and thank goodness for the brand new Masters, I now have a legitimate job title which don’t make people uncomfortable).
Seriously, the wimpy writer thing is a pretty cool way to go!
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