A couple of years back I wrote a post at My Home Truths where I declared, after two years of blogging, that I was not a writer. I was happy to call myself a blogger but the title of writer did not sit well with me. Back then I held no real ambitions to take my blog further and I certainly had no burning desire to write a book or a classic piece of literature.

At the end of the post I pondered whether my belief would change after another two years of blogging. Funnily enough, another two years down the track, it has.

I am a writer Pinterest

I now believe that I am a writer.

A few things have changed in the intervening years. For one, blogging has grown from a mere hobby (albeit, an obsessive hobby) to something much, much more. I was starting to consider it a lifestyle two years ago but now it is not merely a style of life – it IS my life. It is what I want to do for the rest of my life. And now with two blogs to my name, it is no longer merely an aside – blogging is the main game.

I am now actively seeking to monetise my blog. And the world hasn’t ended. I still own my words. I still love my content. And I have not sold my soul. I have only made a little from advertising and sponsored posts so far but it is a start. But don’t worry, I will never clutter either of my sites with paid content or with dodgy brothers stuff – you (and my integrity!) are far more important to me than cheap and easy ways to earn a buck.

I am proud that people have chosen to pay me for the value of my words. As a human you can’t help but feel validated when your efforts are appreciated by others. So I am damn proud of the little I have earned from my writing so far. I love the challenge of making paid content engaging and fun. I enjoy learning something new everyday. And I’ve never felt more satisfied on a professional level before.

I have begun writing a book. I never thought that I had a book in me but it turns out that I do. I am writing a guide to other special needs parents from the perspective of a parent with the focus squarely on the parent, rather than the child. I still despair of ever writing fiction but I’ve embraced non-fiction with a vengeance and I’m hopeful that my experience, my insights and my words will help other special needs parents on their own unexpected journeys.

The biggest change in my in the intervening years is that I now no longer work outside the home. I am no longer a public servant. When people ask me now what I do for a living, I say with pride that I am a writer. Because I am. I always was, you know, yet I could not acknowledge it for the longest time.

After leaving my job and undertaking all the soul-searching that inevitably follows such a step, I finally acknowledged and accepted that writing is what I want to do for the rest of my life. I do not want another job. I don’t want to be anything else. I just want to write.

Since devoting myself to writing just over 6 months ago, I have never, ever felt more alive or fulfilled. I know now with a irrefutable certainty that this is what I was always meant to do.

Even if I never make another cent. Even if I do have to find other ways to earn an income. Even if I never write a book. It doesn’t matter.

Because I am a writer. And that’s a fact.

Linking up with I Must Confess, Open Slather and Mummy Mondays.