I was introduced to a woman yesterday and she and I started chatting (wearing masks, in case you were wondering). She asked me what I did for a living. I have always disliked this question no matter what my profession was at the time, but it's a fair question and I don't begrudge anyone for asking it (though she did ask in that way where it's like, "So what do you do?" instead of the casual and non-threatening "So, what do you do?" that someone else at the same event asked later).
Anyway, so I told her I'm a freelance writer and she asked if I write books. I told her the other types of writing that I do but told her that I am working on a book now.
She called it a pipe dream.
The old me would have been hurt by that. Wounded. I have a much thicker skin now though, thankfully. But I still didn't think it was necessary for her to say that, especially since we had only just met. I kind of laughed it off and we continued our small talk, but I found it irksome.
I debated whether or not to blog about this and, since I moved forward, I probably care more than I'd like to admit. But I'm also doing this because if anyone else reading this has big dreams (do I even have readers?), don't let an impolite stranger rain on your parade (or even someone close to you; friends and family can be discouraging too sometimes). Many successful people throughout history were laughed at and rejected. Nevertheless, they persisted.
I will complete a motherfucking manuscript before I leave this earth. And I don't even care about fame, so I don't have to aim super high. I just want to finish something; that will be enough. To call myself "author" will be enough.