A little over a week ago, I published a post wherein I talked about the struggle of a writer, and questioning whether or not I even was a writer, given the way I felt. It was a very popular post, read over 100 times and garnering a bunch of comments (more views and comments by far than any of my movie, TV, or book reviews; this says that people are more interested in my life than all that other stuff... which is sweet but, given the direction of my writing career to date, kind of unproductive). Since then, some things have happened.
I got paid for a writing gig. It was a short one, and the odds of anyone I know ever seeing the work or, more relevantly, knowing I wrote it if they did, is slim to none, and none just hopped a train out of town. But I got paid, which is great, and it involved Star Wars, which was a bonus.
Also, I applied for a paid writing job on a site devoted to talking about comic books, something you all know is right up my alley. No guarantee I'll get it, but I have my fingers crossed... among other things.
Lastly, despite my equivocation about the subject, since I wrote that post, I've written five reviews of various things and a separate, creative post that got pretty popular in its own right. So, even when I'm unsure about it, I find myself still writing, which I guess answers some questions.
Is the struggle real? Absolutely.
Am I a writer?
The answer speaks for itself.
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