Last year I was asked to be a writing coach for a conference I’ve attended for decades. I did so with gusto, and reveled in the conferees’ kudos and praises. I supposedly changed one woman’s life. How cool is that?
This year, though, things aren’t looking so hot. The teaching roster has already been announced for this coming summer and–gasp!–I am not on the faculty. I’m sulking about being overlooked, wondering why, if all those writers were so enthusiastic about my teaching, I am not being asked to repeat.
The organization that puts on the conference is finding it more and more difficult to break even. The powers-that-be must have big names in order to draw sufficient interest. So, I tell myself, it’s not really about me. Is it?
Maybe it’s because I have so cleverly hidden my true writing identity from the world. In fact, I am so awful, that when I get on an airplane, I’ve been known to tell my seatmate that sure I write. When asked “what kind of books,” I choke every time. “Inspirational,” is my lame response.
I’m supposed to be part of the solution to avarice, sloth, gluttony and, well you get the idea. Like a lot of others, I write some pretty lofty stuff at times, all the while being eaten from the inside by my own shortcomings. I can’t even admit I write for Christians.
Someone must have ratted me out. After years of soothing writers’ egos with platitudes, here I am pouting like a two year-old. A two year-old Closet Christian Writer.
Writers have such a crazy life, that being a Closet Christian Writer is really difficult to keep up. Is there a support group for that? CCWA–Closet Christian Writers Anonymous. Someplace where I can proudly say, “Hi, my name is Linda and I write for the Christian market”–whether they ask me back to their stupid conference or not.
Have you ever kept your writing identity a secret? Do tell.