Permission Not Necessary

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I have spent much of the last week reclining either on the couch or in bed. For two days, I was unable to do anything – including read – because of the overwhelming vertigo and nausea that overtook me when I so much as lifted my head. So I slept…and slept….and slept. I have slept more in the past seven days than in the preceding month combined. Today was my first day with The Boy back at school, and as I’m still excessively coughing every time I move, speak or pretty much do anything, I just hung around reading. Without the nausea. Yay!

I spent the day reorganizing my calendar to squeeze into the next few days everything that I missed doing last week, and also catching up with some of my favorite blogs. There are so many amazing bloggers out there, not a few of whom I’ve stumbled across courtesy of Bloggy Moms and The SITS Girls, and I love reading their new posts. At each turn, I find something to inspire me, make me smile, make me cry, amaze me, give me a lift just when I might need it, provide wisdom. I am humbled that I am fortunate enough to share the profession of writer with these amazing women, and I bow down to their grace in creating such wonderful networks where women writers can converge and support one another.

Today, however, during my trip down the internet rabbit hole, I read a blog that made me cringe. Not because the writing was bad or the subject matter was distasteful to me; quite the contrary.  What made me cringe was the writer’s voice, how timid and fearful she seemed even to call herself a writer. Looking deeper, I discovered that she’s been blogging for a number of years and has published a whole host of things. I was saddened that somewhere along her writing path, someone gave her the idea that what she was doing didn’t make her a “real” writer.

I published my first piece of writing in high school. I’ve never made my living as a writer (unless you count writing legal memos, motions and briefs), but I am a writer. Someday I will make my living writing what I love, but until then, nobody has the right to tell me I’m not a writer. I don’t need anyone’s permission to call myself a writer or pursue my dream.

I am a writer because I write; because I breathe words; because I bleed words. And that’s it.

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9 Comments

Filed under Just Life, The Writing Life

9 responses to “Permission Not Necessary

  1. indra

    We bath and luxuriate in them, I wash them over my eyes and dry on my cheeks. To be savored and mulled over in true moments of bliss

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  2. Tyna S. Cline

    First of all, I’m sorry for your bout with vertigo…miserable from what I hear. So glad you are feeling better and I hope you are 100% very soon. Secondly, I love this post! You can’t begin to imagine how much I needed to read this. Thank you, thank you, thank you! You can expect a pingback from me today. 🙂

    Like

  3. Pingback: I Am a Writer | It's Hard To Be Ladylike

  4. When I first started my blog, I was so cautious and careful and edited the heck out of everything. Now I just write. I write quickly and with great enthusiasm… and sometimes I cringe when I see the bad grammar or mistakes. That said, I have a style and voice and am proud of my blog b/c it is VERY me. Thanks for reminder that this is something to be proud of.
    (And hello from SITS Girls!)

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  5. I agree…no one can tell me I’m not a writer just because I don’t have a book or haven’t been in the WSJ or some other well known publication. I am a blogger…and therefore I write and I am a writer!

    Your post is a great reminder that we need to be happy with ourselves – it’s not about being validated.

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    • That’s the spirit! If more bloggers/writers thought this way, there would be a lot more tax returns with the occupation listed as “writer.” And wouldn’t the world be a much better place for it if we all admitted to our truest professional longings. 🙂 Thanks for stopping by!

      Like

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