“There is only one difference between published and unpublished writers and it is this–the first group see their work in print on the shelves of Waterstone’s or Tesco or online at Amazon; the second group are yet to have physical evidence of the hours, weeks, years spent fashioning words into their patterns. You are already a writer.” — Kate Mosse
Reading this got to me. I chocked up. Because these past few months, as I’ve been holed up in my room, at cafes, working through writing my third book, I’ve felt the discouragement bug creep down my back. Whispering to me its nasty words of criticism and sheer meanness. That the hours I’m putting in aren’t worth it. Because no work of mine has yet been published. So why push harder?
That answer was “to become a writer.” To publish. To prove I can do this. But is that right? Yes, publication is my dream. My goal. And the harder I write, the closer I come to achieving it. To achieving publishing. Not (I realize with more confidence) to becoming a writer.
Because Mosse spoke something I’m sure we all–published and unpublished–relate to–we are writers. Published or not. We sweat. We toil. We work. We write. Our words, our stories, our lives our spilled out on the page. And that alone is the evidence.
We. Are. Writers.