writing, writer, escritora, author, autora

for a long time, i have refused to identify as a writer. i know great writers, and i shy away from clumping myself with the likes of these. something happened this weekend, that has (to my current knowledge) never happened before. i had "writer's block." for three days. i've never experienced an absence of words. words are in me, flowing and billowing like smoke in a volcano. they bubble through me, they always come. usually in disorganized, non-systematic patterns, but words have followed me and ooze out of me. what has been hard to do is find time to sit and write. expelling my words onto paper is my ultimate challenge. i am drawn to writers, some i have as friends, some i meet in passing, and most have discussed experiences with "writer's block."because i could not relate to having a blockage to the golden passage of words,  i couldn't believe myself to be an authentic writer (and what does that even mean?). still, i negated the calling to write and self-identify. having experienced a blank, which i have come to terms: totally normal. i wish to induct myself to the writers hall of fame. for the secret, closeted, ain't-tryna-claim-that-don't-put-me-on-the-spot writer's around the world. here is to us. and cheers to writer's block. it mean's we're human, it reveals our finitude, and this weekend i was reminded i am not invincible.