That’s it. No other requirements necessary. But for a long time (a very long time and sometimes still) that little voice inside my head asks, are you really? When I read the biographies of some of my favorite writers, sure enough, there is a list of degrees and certificates a mile long that state this person is a real writer.
I don’t have a degree in creative writing. But then again, I didn’t get a degree, a manual, or even a certificate of authenticity when I became a mother, but I am a mother regardless of my lack of training. And all of it is on the job. Some of it is instinct and some of it is sheer will. Sometimes I get it right and sometimes I don’t. If I make a mistake, I try to correct it and do better next time. And that’s what I do when I write.
I started this blog as an outlet—practice for the stuff I get paid for. The words get written, I hit the publish button, and voila. But what you don’t know is that I’m always correcting things. I come back to posts and tweak. I even delete. I find countless spelling mistakes in my manuals, in my essays, in my articles, and on this blog. No matter how many times I read and re-read something. I’m afraid the grammar police are going to cite me at any given moment. But again, this is practice. And practice is never perfect.