“What kind of writing do you do?” she asks. She looks like a writer, with her hand-crafted glass necklace and her funky glasses. Quirky but interesting. Yeah, she’s legit. I’m at a writing workshop, fascinated by the guessing game I’ve played all morning. Who’s real? Who truly belongs here? Are there any other imposters?
I stammer, eventually deciding on, “I do copywriting, but primarily write non-fiction.” She nods acceptance.
Is it really that easy? And is it true? Am I a writer? Woven through every conversation at this workshop are polite questions designed to suss out how serious each person is about their craft. Can they sell it? Are they any good? But more importantly, will they see through me? Can I legitimately call myself a “writer”? Saying I’m a designer is easy. I have a framed diploma announcing my BFA in Graphic Design. But can I be a writer simply on my own say-so, simply because I know in my heart that I am?
The same could be asked about Christianity. It’s easy enough to profess one’s allegiance to Christ in a small circle of women gathered for Bible study. But what conclusion will someone draw from watching me, hearing me talk about my work, my family, and my life? And much more importantly, what conclusion does God draw from my life, from my private thoughts and behaviors? Am I truly who I profess to be? If I am, I won’t need to announce it in order for it to be true.