I’ve been writing since I was a small child. I still own some of my earliest short stories, so I’ve considered myself a writer since my age was in the single digits. But today I can officially call myself an AUTHOR.
Which is probably the most surreal experience thus far in my life.
While some may say, “Yeah, but….” – because what I authored isn’t a novel but a short story, or because it was published by a small press publisher and not one of the majors – I say it doesn’t matter.
I was asked to write a story. I wrote it. And it was published. If people want to read that short story they have to purchase it.
To me, that is what being an author is all about. It’s not the size of the story or publisher that distributed it.
And the wonderful thing about having this label is that even were I never to write another story again, I would still be considered an author.
So if I let my fears take hold and never submit a story for publication, or query an agent, I will still have authored this one story.
And even if people despise my writing, rate my story below zero, it still doesn’t take that title away from me. Of course there will likely be a few adjectives added to the front of that title, such as “bad” or “horrific.”
But at least I made that move from writer to author. Something I used to always imagine would happen but never really thought it would.
As the anthology’s release is technically tomorrow, I am probably jumping the gun just a little bit. But since it’s officially now for sale at Amazon, I am taking that label, slapping it to me, and calling it mine, mine all mine.
I hope that this is the start of something new as opposed to the end. But that remains to be determined. And certainly not today.
Today I am going to revel in the fact that a story I wrote is contained in an anthology with some pretty amazing writers and that maybe, just maybe someone will actually read it.