What Makes a True Writer?

I read somewhere not long ago that a true writer feels the call to put words down on paper strong enough to wake the person up at night. My first thought was, that’s utter crap. The whole style of text might’ve had something to do with my aversion to the statement; the article was one of those indulgent passages where the author uses breezy prose to sound more pretentious and lofty. I like that kind of stuff, but in fiction and descriptions. Not in an informative article.

Anyways. Fast forward two weeks, and it’s a long weekend – a real long weekend, with two kids for four days straight and no relief in sight to let me get some work done. I love my kids, but we all have to eat and bills need to be paid.

Still, I chalked up the four days together as ones when nothing resembling work would get done. We had some good times, cleaned the back porch, went through summer clothes and put them away, had a barbecue or two… We hung out. It was fun.

And the minute I had nothing to keep my hands busy, I paced. And paced and paced. And cleaned some more. And moved boxes. And fiddled with pens, tried to play some guitar, futzed around… I had a craving to write that was so bad, I could barely stand it.

I did write, some. I’m up before dawn each day and I do a small run of work then. But it wasn’t enough. I felt like someone had put me on a diet or had taken away my favorite toy. When I did try to catch a few minutes to write, distractions galore made the task impossible.

The day came when I was finally off the hook. My kids were gone and the routine fell back to a normal workday. I headed to the office and indulged my craving to write until I was sated.

Now, here’s where I’m wondering whether that itchy craving I had for days is caused by true instinctual need to allow an enjoyable natural talent to shine or not. Did the craving to write come from my need to stay busy? From my inability to sit still for very long? From an addiction to computers? (God, I hope not.) From feeling lost because of a break in routine?

I’d love to say I’m a true writer, and maybe I am. Somehow, though, I think that I’m not that glorified. I’m not Dickens or Tolkien or King. I’m just Jamie, who likes to write and who can do so while making relative sense. I’m good, sure (alright, I’m great), but I have no big trophies or awards and my name isn’t famous.

I do know that I did have one sleepless night on that long weekend, composing in my head…