Even in a room full of editors, I was an incognito writer.
It’s easy to tell a writer from anything else. We think a bit…differently. Our minds stretch in directions that no one else can see.
We see the way the world works, turn it a bit, and then write that down. We see a person, sketch a white outline of them above their head, and scribble that in some notes. Sometimes we see the wind blow, and know the exact words to say.
Yet we touch the hearts of many people.
They mend at our words. They are each impacted and a bit different afterwards. Some science explains it, but it’s not a phenomenon to be completely described.
Perhaps, writers are a bit magical, and we’ll leave it at that.