What Do You Write?

The other day a man asked me, “What do you write?” 

I opened my mouth to answer him before I realized that I had no answer.  What do I write?  He was waiting for an answer and my mouth was hanging open, letting flies in. 

“Uh, I write…” I swallowed, trying to think of the last thing of import that I’d written.  Does the annual Christmas letter count as literature?  I blog, sure, but doesn’t everyone?  And I’m fairly sure that, while my 503 Facebook friends absolutely adore my status updates, that doesn’t count as being a published author. 

I looked at the guy, still waiting for an answer, the darling patient man. Darn him.  “Crap.  I write crap.”

His eyes widened as he backed away.  “Nice talking to you.  Hope to see you around.”  Or not.

But I’m still a writer.  Sure I am.  It’s all in my head, just waiting to be put on paper.  What is writing, after all?  Black ink on white paper.