Day Two Hundred and Seventy Seven: Flexin’ the Muscles

I was going to post a poem today but A) it’s not finished and B) it’s National Poetry Day on Thursday so it’s probably best to wait til then.

Instead, I’m going to indulge myself a teeny tiny bit. It’s also a bit of a brain dump so if loses coherence and ends up a mess I apologise.

The Poetry Society posted a really cool article type thing today, essentially asking ‘What moment made you a writer?’ and I thought it was interesting enough to devote a blog post to.

The moment I felt like a writer hasn’t really come yet, I don’t think. It feels a bit weird to assign the label of ‘writer’ to myself at the moment. I’d probably happily place myself in the journalist category or the musician category but writer? Not so much.

Maybe winning a poetry competition, as Paul Adrian describes in the very link above, would allow me to call myself a poet. Although I write poetry (obviously) I wouldn’t call myself a poet. Yet. Getting some stuff published in the Glasgow University creative writing journal was definitely a huge step toward that goal, but I can’t say I feel like I’m there yet.

The writer thing? Our creative writing lecturer says that everyone in the class is a writer, and perhaps in that space, for those three hours a week, we are. When we leave, do we remain writers? Perhaps some of us do. I don’t. I go back to being a student.

It’s the student thing that really stops me from calling myself either a writer or a poet. As long as I’m studying it in university, a student of literature and film, I don’t feel like I’m able to call myself a writer.

As someone else mentioned in that link, I too think about writing all the time. Ideas for poems, stories, novels, films fill my head all day, every day. Some are have been spat out and await construction/reconstruction whilst others I’m not ready to write and have been knocking around for some time, requiring more skill than I currently posses to in order to bring them to life (that’s my story and I’m sticking to it).

Does that make me a writer? No. Not yet.

So when did I feel like a writer? I’ll tell you when it happens. I’ll flex the writing muscle until they’re toned enough to be considered real.


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