You see I used to be a high school history teacher before I quit to become a novelist and stay-at-home-dad-to-be. So when someone asks me what I do for a living this causes some strife. I like to tell people I'm a writer. The inevitable next question is "What have you written?" followed by "When is it coming out?" to "Huh, ok, good luck. I think my wife is calling me." Sometimes to avoid the whole thing I just tell people I'm an out of work teacher. It's just easier.
The blessing and curse of the writing profession is that you don't need any credentials. So while you can wake up one day and call yourself a writer that doesn't necessarily make you one. Someone with a medical license is called doctor whether they practice or not, but people at parties want some sort of proof from someone claiming to be an author. So at what point can you legitimately call yourself a writer? I tried to work this out with a flow chart, but it ended up being a pedantic rube goldberg device to nowhere. Then I tried to write a list of you-know-you're-a-writer-when jokes, but they were more depressing than funny.
But there is a moment, concrete and utterly markable, that you become a professional writer. The moment that sets you apart from the hobbyists and ditherers. It's called submission and the term is apt. It is the moment you drop to your knees at the altar of publishing and offer up your sacrifice for favor or disapproval. If you have ever written and sent a query letter, proposal, or portfolio then you are a writer regardless of the consequence. You've put yourself and your baby out there. That takes guts. It means stepping over the threshold and picking up the gauntlet. So all you submitters out there, the next time someone asks what you do, I don't care what your day job is, you tell 'em you're an inkslinger. When they ask you what the hell that is you say, "It means I'm a writer, bitch!"
You might not want to say it exactly that way at a wedding. At least not to the bride.
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