For a long time I carried a very specific image of the writer I would be by now.

Traditionally published. A real deal. A book on a shelf in a bookshop with my name on the spine.

I am not that writer. Not yet. And the honest truth is I do not know if I ever will be.

For a long time that gap felt like a verdict.

Today I wrote about what it actually is. And what the real version of this writing life has given me that the imagined one never could have.

If you have ever felt the distance between the writer you are and the writer you thought you would be by now, this one is for you.