Michael Dean Clark
This is the first in a series of four entries on “being” a writer.
I’ve spent the last four years completely committed to becoming a published author and yet only recently come to terms with calling myself a writer when people ask what I do for work. Even though I’ve written since I was young, saying it out loud (and claiming it as a vocation no less) has always felt a bit presumptuous and a lot bougie. And then there’s the inevitable follow-up question:
What’s your book called?
Um, I don’t have one. Until a couple years ago, I didn’t have a single fiction credit to my name. The awkward moment that follows generally ends with another question, or really, variations on the same question:
So what do you really do? Oh, so what’s your day job then? So, writing’s a hobby then? Where does your money come from?
Since drug sales and exotic dancing don’t seem to be acceptable answers to those questions, I’ve been obliged to tell people I teach writing and am working on a terminal degree (anyone else think that a Ph.D. and cancer sharing an adjective is odd?). And then the nod comes. You know, the head bob that says, Oh, you’re a loser.
Recently, however, I’ve had a couple pieces published and some “encouraging” agent rejection letters. As a result, I find myself described in a new way. Now, I’m not a loser, I’m an “emerging writer.” I am troubled by this title as well. Am I a grizzly rolling out of months of winter hibernation? Am I a developing nation? The consensus seems to be that I’m somewhere between caterpillar and butterfly, which in my estimation makes me that nasty, gray chrysalis from which a living creature may or may not spring.
If you think I’m wrong, try out the following:
Sir, you’re going to need triple bypass heart surgery. But don’t worry; one of our brightest emerging surgeons will perform the procedure.
I know you’re on trial for murder, but you’ve got an emerging public defender representing you.
When I think about the idea of emergence, I immediately want another title. I’m trying a few out. Tell me what you think.
I am under-published. I am material heavy and publication light. I’m very market selective. My readership is still on an indie level. Commercial success isn’t all that important. My family likes some of what I write and you should too. If I’m not the next “it” writer, I feel safe saying I could be the next “that” writer.
That last one seems a bit long and probably wouldn’t go over well on a resume. Maybe the one before it too.
I guess I just want to feel less like a fraud when I call myself a writer. Then again, if great novelists like J.D. Salinger, Harper Lee, and Lauren Conrad from The Hills never settled comfortably into the title, maybe I shouldn’t expect too either.
Michael Dean Clark is an author of fiction and nonfiction and is in the final stages of earning a Ph.D. in Creative Writing at the University of Milwaukee-Wisconsin. His work is set primarily in his hometown of San Diego and has been known to include pimps in diapers, heroin-addicted pastors who suffer from OCD, and possibly the chupacabra.
Awesome! Many of us writers are in similar situations. I think we should all take pride in calling ourselves “writers” whether we have published credits or not. The title comes in the effort, not in the cresults.
That’s a very funny and slightly aching observation. I get the impression that ‘emerging’ has a different conatation in Ireland that in the US. Aspiring is another term but I think it implies that you are thinking about writing but haven’t actually done any yet!
Wetland plants, the ones that like water on their “toes,” are also called emerging. So consider yourself a well watered writer bringing your greenery to the light of day.
HWould this work: “I teach university students how to write concisely, coherently, correctly, and creatively; and I’m on the verge of being a nationally known writer”?
Would this work: “I teach university students how to write concisely, coherently, correctly, and creatively; and I’m on the verge of being a nationally known writer”?