Written by: Fernanda Ieffet
If there is anything that every writer experiences at least once, it is impostor syndrome. I have asked myself “Am I a real writer?” many times before and I know I am not alone in this because this question is difficult to answer. I am sure many people think of being a writer as a profession, or an academic skill, but that feels too simple of a definition for such a multi-layered activity. I mean sure, we have all drawn a circle in the corner of a piece of paper with yellow crayons in third grade and called it an art piece. But that does not make us artists per se (or at least that is what my mom told me in her “tough love builds character” era). It is similar when it comes to writing, everyone who went to high school had to write essays in MLA format, but does that make us writers? That sounds too simple for my overthinking brain. I wonder what all writers have in common; what is a writer made of?
It is true that I cannot remember a time in which writing was not a part of my everyday routine, even if it was just leaving a note to my mom to remind her we were out of milk. I am Brazilian as well, so I had to go through long afternoons perfecting my cursive, but that is a story for another blog post. What is interesting however is that, although I was always surrounded by writing growing up (or from what I can remember of it, because it still has me shocked that people have memories from when they were two) it was not until I was fifteen that I felt like I actually discovered writing. When I wrote one of my first poems in a moving bus about seasons, writing felt like more than just a homework assignment that was worth ten percent of my grade. As cheesy as it sounds (or reads, I guess), it felt like unlocking a part of my heart.
From then on, writing bled into everything else in my world. For me, heartbreak looked like a long poem amidst intense crying, happiness looked like the idea for a brand-new book, anger looked like a thought that vanished because I did not have paper and pen with me, and sadness looked like the busyness of college preventing me from having time to write. So, I guess being a writer is more than just being able to combine sentences; it is a way of existence. It does not even have to be good (I am sure for some of you this article is not), it just needs to come with the forever present yearning for the next time we will experience a peak of creativity. A writer is a writer because he can’t escape the act of writing. So, what is a writer made of? Well, I think my answer will have to begin with love…
Featured Image Caption: A kitten writing in a notebook