Having finally turned my ego down to simmer, and faced up to being a “writer” in all its unsung glory, I find myself thinking about writing a lot: the act of being a writer – the “performance” of Writer if you will.
And I find myself being ever more aware of writing in terms of craft and style, both in myself and others.
If the definition of “writer” can be divorced from the money aspects, then this matters quite a lot, or, at least, it matters in ways that are a lot less definable and a lot less obvious than you might think, for me, anyway.
My writing becomes my public face. My writing is, for most of the people I want to reach, the only version of me that they will ever see.
It becomes my calling card.
And so I notice myself being more careful in my written work, wherever it happens to be. Even my Facebook posts and comments: I proofread more, I edit more, I curate them more. Because that’s what prospective readers might see before anything else. That might be their first introduction to the Writer Me, and if I am asking readers to trust me, to put themselves into my metaphorical hands for a few hours, I owe it to both of us to be, always, the best writer I am capable of.
One only hopes it is enough.