I’ve written all kinds of scraps or writing for years. Plays, poems (very bad poems), short stories, unfinished novels. Along the way, I found it difficult to take myself seriously. I still find it difficult. Was I really a writer?
Many would argue that being a writer is a state of mind. That particular moniker shouldn’t be tied to status, or milestones, or other turning points in the path writers follow. I’ve heard from many established writers, both famous and less so, who claim that they still wake up some days feeling like an imposter. I can relate.
Nonetheless, it’s inevitable that we should mark out some occasions of worthy of celebration, of indicators of forward progress. Getting published is no doubt one of those places to take note. So, I’m very proud to report that I’ve been published. Yay! 😀