Have you ever woken up and thought, “Today, I feel like a complete success. Everything I touch turns to gold, I finish what I put my mind to, and my dreams are coming to fruition.”

Yeah, me neither.

If you’re like me, you’re not a writer. Oh, you want to be one, sure. Maybe sometimes you even put words on paper. Maybe you mail those word-laden pages out to magazines and agents. But a writer? A real one? Hah! Don’t make me laugh.

The truth is, I’ve never really felt, deep down, that I am a writer. More often, I feel like a failed writer, or a writer-wannabe. Sales don’t seem to make any difference. I can’t possibly compare to other writers I know. I’m a pretender, but they’re the real deal.

I have it on good authority that they feel the same way. There’s always someone “better” to compare yourself disparagingly to.

But lately, I’ve been trying to take this feeling, examine it dispassionately from the outside, accept that this is how I will always feel, and move on from it. I will never feel like a writer to my bones, because no one is a writer.

No one. Not you, not me, not your favorite authors. And that’s just fine.

Allow me to elaborate. Being a writer is a process, not an end result. When I ask myself if I’m a writer, it’s the wrong question, and will always and inevitably lead to an answer I do not like. So now, I try to ask myself if I’m writing.

More often than not, the answer is yes.

So the next time you wake up and find yourself wondering if you’re a writer, try accepting the idea that you are not. Your results may vary, but I’ve found it relieving. The pressure’s off, and I can then sit down and do some writing.

Because after all… I’m a writer, damnit.