You’re Not a Real Writer If…

We’ve all seen that phrase before. It’s usually in a post on Twitter or in a blog where some cocky writer with a huge head decides they can gatekeep and distinguish the true auteurs of the craft from the lowly peasants of prose. Usually they go a little something like this:

You’re not a real writer if:

• You’re not a published author.
• You haven’t been paid for your work.
• You haven’t received at least 100 rejections.
• You haven’t received at least (insert odd number here) acceptances.
• You don’t write at least eleventy-million words a day. Before breakfast.
• Your fingers haven’t bled from the sheer volume of writing you do each and every day. And you have the incessant need to tell everybody about it.

The funny thing is, it has become a trope. As soon as someone posts their opinions on what constitutes “real writing”, other authors are quick to jump down their throat, rightfully so, but sadly giving those jerks the attention they’re looking for and don’t deserve.

I find the whole thing kind of boring, but it got me thinking. If I were to keep such a gate, what would the list be? Well, I’m glad no one asked for my opinion, so here it is:

You’re not a real writer if:

• You haven’t poured yourself a bowl of Cheetos, gotten completely engrossed in what you were writing, realize the bowl is now empty and blamed the dog. Except that you don’t own a dog.
• You can also blame a cat. Speaking of which…
• You’re not a real writer if you don’t own a cat.
• I’m allergic. I just negated myself.
• You accidentally hit a button and watched in horror as 332 hours of writing disappears before your eyes.
• After you try and rewrite all those words you lost, it’s never quite as good as before and you know it.
• Your characters won’t do what you want them to do and instead laugh as you lose your God-like dominion over them as they gaily chide you about that time you embarrassed yourself at the high school dance in 11th grade in front of your crush.

• You haven’t killed at least one character to wreak imaginary vengeance on a person who slighted you that day. I’m talking about you – cranky lady at the grocery store who stole my parking spot and then brought 25 items into the 12 item or less lane. I’m talking about YOU.
• You’ve looked at what other authors are doing, felt bad at all they’ve accomplished and asked yourself, “am I a real writer?”

Hey look, there is no magic formula or one true path to becoming a writer. You say you are? That’s good enough for me. You are. Now go out there and write!

Or don’t. I don’t care. Whatever you do – you’re a real writer.