by Lynette Sheppard
author of “The Big M” and “The Everyday Enneagram”
I was honored to be asked to attend a writer’s retreat recently. I didn’t know any of the attendees save the hostess, but we all bonded on our first evening together. These women were not only writers; they were instant girlfriends.
Over the next 3 1/2 days, we did writing exercises and worked on current or new projects. Then we had the moments of truth. We read some of our work aloud.
A screenwriter was adapting her own short story into a movie script. After hearing the beginning, I can’t wait to see this film.
Another wrote a wrenching and poignant memoir detailing her spiritual journeys. And now I’m anxious to read this book in total.
A unique how-to book, humorous essays, and travel writing followed. I was awestruck. These women were really good. What was I doing here? Okay, I’ve written two books, but I’m mostly a blogger. I love writing, but I’m not sure I deserve to be called a writer just yet.
I confided these thoughts to our group and found that ALL of us, despite myriad credentials and publishig credits, were a little unsure that we were worthy of being called “writer”.
We had to laugh at ourselves, of course we are writers. I’ve noticed this before in myself and my girlfriends – a tentative uncertainty in claiming an artisitc identity. It’s so much easier to recognize the talents of others than ourselves. Yet, we don’t sever ourselves by shrinking or comparing our unique styles to others. Intellectually I know this: still old habits die hard.
Now is the time of life to stand up tall and say, “I am an artist, writer, photographer, botantist, creatie person, etc.” If we say it out loud, we may realize that we deserve to shine a light on our creative endeavors; indeed ourselves. Living in the light; what a great idea for the second half of life.
This week, and this year, when I’m asked what I do, I will answer simply, “I’m a writer.” And I will support my girlfriends in claiming their artistic identities.
