I can tell what you read, by how you write.
I have read all of Melody Beattie’s books, and am now finishing up two books by Marianne Williamson. My writing has evolved over time, but this is where I sit. In a calm, quiet space. Allowing the words to fall to the page.
Much like life itself, there aren’t many rules for me.
I’ve tried making a schedule like I do for work, but no joy there. Writing is a large part of who I am, so it comes from the heart. It’s a feeling I get, like I can feel the words welling up inside me. There is no schedule for that.
I’ve tried writing for other people, and that doesn’t work either. I cannot become something I’m not.
When we first moved to this little house near the city, I thought it would be fun to write for a local paper. Not a big one, just a small town vibe. I called one and gained valuable insight. I spoke with the editor and told him I am a writer and would like to write about the town. I would share my stories with him, and he could place them in the community section of the paper.
He asked, “Are you a journalist, or someone who writes, and calls himself a writer?”
Come to find out, a journalist has to be news savvy. I haven’t watched the news in years and don’t read a paper. I was grateful for our conversation and happy to have spoken with him. He confirmed what I already knew. I’m a writer.
The only thing I need to know that would be newsworthy is, “When is Jesus coming back?” I’m pretty sure we will know.
So, “What kind of writer are you?”