I no doubt have the most blog entries about not writing enough blog entries. Of any blog except maybe a writer’s blog.

Is this a writer’s blog? Am I a writer?

NPR’s LifeKit posted an episode about ‘How to Write a Book’ that condensed the beneficial takeaways of a heap of writing guides, TED Talks, and one million self-flagellating writer’s journal entries of mine. One of those takeaways was that there are countless reasons we aren’t writing. But there’s only one thing that makes us writers.

Writing.

Not being published. Not a tenured position. Not brilliance. Not a project. Not a marketable pitch.

What makes me a writer is that I am writing.

It’s remarkable to me how profoundly I’ve missed that simple truth. It’s routine to add layer of layer of self-definition that inhibits me from the actual act of writing. To be clear-eyed about every obligation and opportunity that can become obstacles to actually putting words down.

It so powerful cuts through all of that to remind myself: the thing you do to be a writer… is to write.

So at the risk of once again turning this blog–supposedly a blog about teaching, about culture, about faith, about politics and society, about literary and visual arts–into a series of yearly motivational speeches to compel myself to actually write…

Here are some things I want to write about this week. They may never materialize. But I will be a writer this week, despite the anxiety pervading our family life, the neglected and overdue correspondences and calls with friends, the work tasks that continue to blare “overdue.”

-Pandemic superpowers: Some promise and perils of distance teaching for public school teachers

-Absorbing violence in BBC America’s Killing Eve and Netflix’s Extraction

-Public health officials as political actors who could pave a way to a stewardship society (Thoughts from watching Fauci and Gentefied.)

-Postcolonial Christian revisiting Narnia with my daughter