Author spoke to a good friend this morning. After a lengthy talk about the friend’s latest feats—her life is never boring—the friend prodded Author to tell her what’s new in her life. Thing is, Author hasn’t told anyone she writes. It’s easy to keep this from others when you haven’t published yet, and when you work full time doing something entirely different. And, as you probably know yourself, daily life is so very busy and there are so many other subjects to talk about with your friends, so many ways to answer the ever-repeated question ‘so what’s new?’.
And so Author had gotten used to keeping those solitary hours of writing to herself. It has, in effect, become a secret that she has kept. When she would be asked what’s new, she would say, “Nothing”. And whenever she was asked what she did, she would mumble something about work. Since Author was self-employed for years, this was easy to get away with—those around her knew that work continued, too many times, into the night and through weekends and holidays, and so they never thought she might be doing something else with her time.
But now Author is, in fact, an author. And no one knows, no one except Sister and, of course, their mother. And you know, the readers of Author’s words, or those of you who have spoken with Sister and Author on social media or in interviews. But here, outside this apartment Author is writing to you from, no one does. It feels strange, answering “I write” to those here who ask her what she does. It still feel presumptuous, perhaps that’s the right sentiment. As if Author is daring do something that should rightfully be left to others who are so much better than her at it, more deserving than her. Will this pass, will Author one day walk the streets as just that, an author, not hesitating to put herself out there as such?
That, Author thinks, only time and you, her readers, will tell.