Thank You

Today a co-worker said, "You're a writer."

And somewhere in between my severe blushing and awkward, embarrassed mumblings of a response, I thought to myself, 'well, I guess I am.'

This co-worker hardly knew me, beyond what he could see or perhaps discern from a couple dozen conversations spread over a couple dozen days. Yet there he was, calling me this thing. A writer.

He had looked me up. Read my blog. And I was in awe.

That anyone would take the time to explore what I had to say is a concept far beyond me. It's incredible.

And I guess as a blogger you go into this thing knowing that the grand aim is for other people, somewhere out in the ether, to read what you write (well, type). But it never seems to change the fact that somewhere inside you think, maybe no one actually is.

And then someone you know, someone who's perhaps closer to you than you might have originally thought, goes and does this. They go and read your blog. And then call you a writer. To your face!

(I typically say, 'sometimes I write things,' but rarely do I call myself a writer.)

You almost have no choice but to accept the label they've placed upon you. You have no choice but to agree, because well, they're right.

So, thank you, you sweet few sitting at your computers reading my words. I don't know what I did to deserve your following or precious attention. But for as long as you're willing to read, I'll be here to write.

And let us remember what William Faulkner said:

Get it down. Take chances. It may be bad, but it's the only way you can do anything really good.

Irrelevant Aside: I officially hear an ice cream truck outside my door and want nothing more than to rush outside with a handful of coins to buy one of those striped rocket shaped Popsicles! Amazing.