Thursday, October 22, 2009
I'm kind of a closet-writer. Isn't that weird? Especially since everyone knows me as the writer girl and I majored in journalism.
But here's what I mean.
Nobody really knows I write. Plenty of people know I write articles and whatnot, but nobody knows what else I write. Very few have read my poetry, and next to no one has read my fiction.
Ok, wait; amendment: I'm a writer whose work is closeted.
It's not that people don't know I write. It's just that no one SEES what I write. And I don't know why I do that. A lot of the time, I don't want people to read what I write. Which is completely counter-productive, because how am I going to make a living off writing things I don't want anyone to read?! (If anyone figures out how to do that, get at me ASAP.) Barely anyone has every read my articles outside of teachers and people assigned to peer edit. No one has read my fiction. And, more than that, I have barely told anyone the other projects I do because I know people will ask to read, and I don't want them to. Four people know I am participating in NaNoWriMo this year, no one knows of my freelance assignment, and perhaps two people know about my blog (assuming they see who follows them and figure out who I am). Hell, my family doesn't even know about all this.
I'm trying to correct it. If I were gay, I'd be trying to come out. So now, I guess I'm trying to out my writing.