Savannah Watson

Recently, I met one of my dad’s acquaintances for the first time, someone I’d heard my parents say nice things about but had not met myself.

Now, usually when I meet friends of my dad’s, I hear the question “you’re the youngest?” or “you’re the one who [insert something my sister has done]?”. I love my sister, so I don’t mind at all when people mix us up; it’s easy enough to say “yes, I’m the youngest” or “No, my sister did that.” I’m used to these kinds of introductions at this point (20 plus years with a sibling desensitizes you to it, I think. Kind of like a parent calling you every name in the house, including the pet’s name, before they get yours right).

So, my father introduced me to his friend, saying, “this is my daughter.” And she said, “oh, are you the writer?”

The Writer.

My brain went blank for a second. It was the first time in my life that I had been bestowed that title upon meeting someone. And when I say it felt amazing, believe me when I say that is an understatement. To be referred to as ‘the writer’ in complete earnest, as if that was my entire identity (which it kind of is in my mind), was so validating for a couple reasons.

First, this being our first introduction means that my dad talks about my writing career with people he knows. I already knew that he did – he and my mom have always taken my dreams of a writing career seriously (both going so far as to play an active role in either editing or selling). But there is something so endearing to know that my parents brag about that specific part of my life to the people they know. It reminds me that they are proud of me as an author, and that makes me proud of myself.

Second, being called the writer made me feel “legitimate”, like people take me seriously as an author, even “just” a self-published one. I know I have many people in my corner who believe in me, none more than my parents and my friends, but it feels different coming from a stranger.

So, when I regained my composure, I told the woman, “yes, that’s me. I’m the writer”. She asked me lots of questions and enthused about how cool she thought it was that I was a writer. She told me about her teenage daughter, who loves to write (having been a teenage writer myself, I hope she pursues it and does great things!). After I went home, my dad texted me to tell me that she had requested a copy of my book.

This interaction ended up being an incredible moment for me (one that I definitely talked about a lot after the fact). To be referred to as the writer gave me a little boost in confidence and made me think: I really am achieving this dream.

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