Photo by The Marmot
I read something, somewhere, about the need to define yourself as a writer both inwardly, in your own mind, and outwardly, when talking to other people about what you do.
I used to think that was probably right. Note the ‘probably’. I’m not so sure anymore.
If you tell people you’re a writer, the next question you have to answer is ‘what do you write?’, followed quickly by ‘will I have heard of you?’.
Unless both answers are in the extreme positive, in that you’ve carved out a well-defined niche for yourself along the lines of Bill Bryson or Lee Childs, say, or you can tell them you’re regularly published – like on a weekly or monthly basis – in a national publication that everyone and his dog has heard of, my thoughts now on the subject are that a little secretiveness is probably best.
There’s that probably again.
Truth is, I alternate between two extremes on this issue. One day I feel that telling everyone is the way to go, and the next I’m convinced it’s best to shutup about it. Unless you enjoy endlessly justifying what you do and why you do it, and are willing to put up with the ‘oooh get you’ looks.
Today I’m having a ‘shutup’ day.
Tomorrow I’ll probably be back shouting from the rooftops. (Are cliches allowed in blogposts? Who cares, seeing as today I’m keeping silent about writing I don’t need to worry about whether or not I’m being original.)
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