Who is a Writer?

Writing is a dirty job. I tend to get bogged down by the sound of my own thoughts, piling up, hour after hour. Don’t get me wrong, listening is usually a laudable activity. For instance, I try to “listen” to myself, when it comes to my health, and what my body needs. But listening to my thoughts unfold ad infinitum becomes ad nauseam. Oy. I’d rather listen to someone else.

But I challenged myself with writing 500 words on a topic. Five hundred, to give a finite form to wrap my head around. And writing on writing seemed like the first step.

I’ve always seen myself as a writer. Maybe not a Writer. But definitely a writer. In my personal and professional life, both. But what does that mean to me?

It reflects my great love of words. From the beginning, when I idealized and idolized my vocabulary books in grade school. From when I read Nancy Drew and would run across a word I didn’t know. I’d ask my Mom what it meant and she said, "look it up." On road trips, I took the book I was reading…and a dictionary. And I fondly remember our family's grand dictionary tome. You know, one of those piece of furniture dictionaries, that came with its own stand. With pages that had the same feel as air mail letter paper, lighter and more precious between your fingertips.

I adore the written word and the tales it tells. Everything is a story. Directions, a shopping list, a conversation, a bestseller. A word can be a meal. A book can be a universe. Providing information, engaging our imagination, conjuring images, channeling memories. Evocative. Provocative.

I like to play with words and grammar. And I am drawn to people who feel similarly. Especially when coupled with curiosity, sarcasm, or a stream of consciousness embrace. Verbal jazz. Riffing with someone else always the preferred scenario. Which could be at the heart of my writer vs. Writer self-identification. I feel smarter, wittier, when parrying with another, elevating monologue to dialogue. The game, raised. You throw down the gauntlet and see where the conversation takes you. The pretend danger and serendipitous beauty of improv.

Writing is a mental exercise. And like any form of exercise, it takes discipline, and dedication. And there are great Writers amongst us, even if they haven’t been published. Commercial success does not define a writer. The truth of art exists for itself, regardless of audience size. I produced and co-wrote an indie doc film a few years ago, and I was focused on the arc of the story, the marriage of the images, creating a whole. It didn’t matter to me if no one else ever saw it. The creation itself was a sacred pact.

With my being, I honor the words that were formed, verbal and then written, to create what we shared with one another, from the experiences we hunted and gathered. The quintessential story of our existence. Replete with profundity, inspiration, and empathy. These are the words that shape me.

Brooklyn, New York