By itself it seems harmless enough and self reflection is good for us. Right? So why does this question carry such dire consequences?
Sometimes the very act of discovering the perfect descriptors, a basic exercise for any writer, for what it is we do creates an insurgent inadequacy powerful enough to knock the pen from our hands.
For we idealize the artist as we do the movie star. Each of us carrying a vision of what a true writer looks like.
Perhaps yours is of the lone writer struggling tirelessly against the curse of vagueness. Or a Stephen King-like voraciousness that continues to spew forth published works or the Emily Dickenson-like surreptitious strength of brevity bubbling quietly from within.
An impossible measure that can leave us barren.
A writer, not unlike an artist, is someone who views the world in a way that demands the act of expression and wields the pen like a brush upon a canvas.
Roland Barthes said "... I cannot but ascribe to some super-humanity the existence of beings vast enough to wear blue pajamas at the very moment when they manifest themselves as universal conscience."
So as I don my pink footie pajamas armed with nothing but my keyboard and a cup of joe I plunge again because I don't know any other way to live.
What's your vision of a writer and how do you remind yourself that you are indeed a writer?