A few close friends are trying to get me to accept “writer” as a description of what I do in life, but I resist. I don’t want to write novels or short stories or poetry. But if I were making even a modest living writing I might relent and let myself be called a writer. Frankly I’m happy just to write every day and get something off my chest. At this point I don’t care what you call me. Money does seem to be the issue, though. I’m too advanced in age to project decades out into the future. If I figure out a way to write what I want and get paid a living wage for it, then sure, I’ll wear the writer’s hat with pride and you can introduce me as such.

Written by

I occasionally write fiction and also about creativity, loving, language learning and travel. I’m a longtime painter and reader.

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