“I’m not a writer!” by Madi Hart


I’ve written short stories since I was a little girl. I try to write poetry on nights where I feel artificially inspired, trying to become someone who I’m not and develop skills I don’t have so that I can attempt to grasp who I am. I wrote a forty page (8.5×11) single-spaced fan fiction about Niall Horan (One Direction, may they solo artist in peace) in sixth grade. I wrote (and rewrote) book reports for ELA. I’m writing my Extended Essay. I write Internal Assessments. I write emails, letters, text messages, journals, blog posts, cover letters, and resumes. Sometimes when I’m trying to sort out my thoughts on a rainy Monday afternoon, I write about my feelings. But when my Spanish teacher asked my class today if any of us were writers, I sheepishly replied, “Eh, I guess.” What is a writer? One that writes. What do I do? Write. A lot. So why am I not giving myself credit? Why do I sell myself short, especially in an area where I usually excel? I’m afraid. I’m afraid of “She calls herself a writer?!”‘s and “Just because you can put a few sentences together doesn’t mean you’re a writer.”‘s. I’m afraid of finding something else I’m passionate about, writing less, and people preferring the person that we thought I was to the person that I could become. I’m afraid of being tied down to something that I could lose.

I guess I’ve figured up until now that unless I label myself as something, people won’t label me as such. But, why does it matter? Why should my fears inhibit me from applying for scholarships that require good writers? From being proud of myself for stringing a few poetic words together? From expressing my dizzying thoughts in neat little lines on crisp white paper? I shouldn’t.
Welcome to the Shaker Writing Center blog. I’m Madi Hart, and I’m a writer.

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