ROF said something this week that upset me. or it made me mad at first but then i thought about it some more.
i was telling a story about something that happened to me that i thought was right out of a scene from a movie, or a book. and i said to ROF, “you know, the writer in me thought that would be a great story to tell.” that’s when he said:
“since when are you a writer?”
i won’t bore you with the witty repartee but it is one of those things that i always thought i was. in fact, i bet my mom and sister are reading this saying “she is a writer?” but it is one of those things that i’ve always aspired to be but don’t write much any more. unless you count 287 blog posts writing.
which i do, by the way. ROF. even if there are pictures.
i graduated college with a fiction writing minor. i took a post-grad class called “your first 100 pages” of your novel. i wrote a book of poems. I’M A WRITER.
or am i just one of those old(er) people that hangs on to who they used to be – or worse – hangs on to whom they wanted to be? busted. but stuff like this can always be turned around, right?
ernest hemingway, i’m not. but i kind of liked thinking of myself as a writer. so i’m going to start to write. you’ll notice a new tab at the top of my blog. peek in there sometime if you want to read some musings. i want to be a writer.