“Addie ider!” I had been walking around the house singing, “If you’re a writer and you know it, clap your hands.” Adelaide, who always responds to music, started shaking her entire body, clapping, and shouting that she was a writer.
Another article of mine had been published and I was being silly. But Adelaide’s declaration reminded me of the simple truth: I am a writer because I say I’m a writer…not because someone is paying me for my thoughts. How often I wait for others to affirm in my life what God already called me to.
Countless times I have told Dave I’m shutting it all down. Why write if no one reads it? He teases that I am on a 6 week cycle when it comes to Little House. “Every six weeks you threaten to close it down. Then one week later, you are writing again. Maybe I should take over every six weeks and write the posts.” A twinkle in his eye. I am that predictable.
My methods aren’t ideal. I write posts in my head while I do laundry, change diapers, pick up Dave from work, and shower. Sometimes the words stay in my head for an hour. Other times, I mentally write and rewrite them for days, weeks, months. Then, they must make it out onto a screen. I sit down and feverishly write for 5 to 30 minutes. Putting all those thoughts down until I am done.
I go back to make sure my phone didn’t autocorrect always to ashtrays. Because it does. Every single time. But I rarely edit my thoughts and content. And then I publish or save the post. I’ve deleted a few dozen posts before they were even published. The words weren’t ready or people weren’t ready.
But most posts go from my head to the internet before Team UmiZoomi is finished. It’s how I write. My skills are pretty on par with a kindergartner’s, but I am usually happy to hit that publish button and move on with my day. I am a writer.
And not because someone wants to pay me for a few articles, but because I get to a point where no matter the time of day, I think, “I need to write this down right now!” When I’m done, no one in this house even knows it’s happened. Unless I sing a little ditty and clap my hands. Which actually sounds like a pretty fantastic way to start cheering myself on. It works for Adelaide.