I'm a Writer. I mean, a Mom. A Writing Mommy.
* reposted from The Writing Parent column, March 21, 2005
It seems, as a society, as people, as small talk, I am always asked what I do. That empty question, "So, what do you do?" As if what we do is the most critical aspect of ourselves. The implications that question arises is insurmountable.
Before I was a parent (or Mom, as my son would say), I undeniably flaunted my career, my schooling, and proudly admitted I was a technical writer. Not that anyone really knew what a technical writer did, but I would state it as if I were a doctor. Or lawyer. Then I would spew out a few rambling sentences stating I write computer manuals, and generally more complicated computer manuals that system administrators or those privy enough to view them behind the scenes would read for direction in setting up large computer systems. I felt a need to tell them this. Because, well, it wasn't like anything I was writing would ever be at a consumer level.
After becoming a mother, and a few career moves later, I found I was writing consumer based product manuals for a living. But, the glamour was gone. And so were my hours. I was a consultant who worked less than full-time out of my home with my child right alongside me. I was still asked (even more so when we moved to a new, more affluent neighborhood), "What do you do?"
I would simply respond, "I'm a mom."
Heads would cock to the side. Eyebrows crinkled. Until I was forced to eek out a more acceptable response, "I am a work at home mom. I'm a consultant."
And I'd still get, "Ah, what type of consulting do you do?"
Then, as expected, I would continue: "I'm a technical writer for a small firm. I write computer manuals, help systems, marketing collateral, and of course any other form of writing needed at the time."
I became disappointed, almost depressed with the slot in life I had chosen. Not the parent or mommy part, but the career path. I had sold out to the greater corporate America. I had sold out on my dream to write fun, entertaining, and imaginary stories. I was always a
writer. Had written fiction, poetry, or journals my entire life. But I'd closeted the simple response, "I'm a writer," deep inside myself. What would I tell them I write?
Over time, and once the fear was shoved aside, I started truly writing fiction again. I started my novel. I finished my novel. And I even sent out queries to agents and publishers. When that first query returned from an agent asking for more material, I rejoiced. And was validated. Yes I am a writer. And in fact, I am a Mommy Lit writer. Which, if I really look at it, say it, and let it roll off my tongue, it encompasses all I want people to know about me - "I'm a writing
Mommy."
It seems, as a society, as people, as small talk, I am always asked what I do. That empty question, "So, what do you do?" As if what we do is the most critical aspect of ourselves. The implications that question arises is insurmountable.
Before I was a parent (or Mom, as my son would say), I undeniably flaunted my career, my schooling, and proudly admitted I was a technical writer. Not that anyone really knew what a technical writer did, but I would state it as if I were a doctor. Or lawyer. Then I would spew out a few rambling sentences stating I write computer manuals, and generally more complicated computer manuals that system administrators or those privy enough to view them behind the scenes would read for direction in setting up large computer systems. I felt a need to tell them this. Because, well, it wasn't like anything I was writing would ever be at a consumer level.
After becoming a mother, and a few career moves later, I found I was writing consumer based product manuals for a living. But, the glamour was gone. And so were my hours. I was a consultant who worked less than full-time out of my home with my child right alongside me. I was still asked (even more so when we moved to a new, more affluent neighborhood), "What do you do?"
I would simply respond, "I'm a mom."
Heads would cock to the side. Eyebrows crinkled. Until I was forced to eek out a more acceptable response, "I am a work at home mom. I'm a consultant."
And I'd still get, "Ah, what type of consulting do you do?"
Then, as expected, I would continue: "I'm a technical writer for a small firm. I write computer manuals, help systems, marketing collateral, and of course any other form of writing needed at the time."
I became disappointed, almost depressed with the slot in life I had chosen. Not the parent or mommy part, but the career path. I had sold out to the greater corporate America. I had sold out on my dream to write fun, entertaining, and imaginary stories. I was always a
writer. Had written fiction, poetry, or journals my entire life. But I'd closeted the simple response, "I'm a writer," deep inside myself. What would I tell them I write?
Over time, and once the fear was shoved aside, I started truly writing fiction again. I started my novel. I finished my novel. And I even sent out queries to agents and publishers. When that first query returned from an agent asking for more material, I rejoiced. And was validated. Yes I am a writer. And in fact, I am a Mommy Lit writer. Which, if I really look at it, say it, and let it roll off my tongue, it encompasses all I want people to know about me - "I'm a writing
Mommy."
