Stop calling yourself an “aspiring” writer
Why your language is undermining your authority.
I remember attending a book festival and a woman introduced herself as an “aspiring writer” while clutching a copy of a literary magazine with her published poem inside. The cognitive dissonance was interesting, but what struck me more was how automatic the self-diminishment had become.
Look up “aspiring” in any dictionary. It means having ambitions to achieve something. If you aspire to write, you’re not writing. If you’re writing — even if it’s bad, even if infrequently, even without publication — you’re not aspiring to be a writer.
You already are one.
Yet somehow, writers have convinced themselves that claiming their identity requires external permission. They apologize for their work, qualify their commitment and introduce themselves with language that invites dismissal.
It’s time to stop.
The Self-Diminishing Trap
“Aspiring writer” has become the default humble introduction for anyone who writes but hasn’t achieved some arbitrary marker of success. Published authors use it until they hit bestseller lists. Award winners use it until they quit their day jobs and write full time. Some use it even after making six figures from their writing.
These two words create a permanent state of “not quite there yet.” But enlighten me, where is “there” exactly? Publication? Payment? Recognition? Critical acclaim? The goalposts keep moving, ensuring you never feel legitimate enough to claim your actual practice.
This isn’t humility. It’s self-sabotage disguised as modesty.
Language shapes reality. What you call yourself becomes who you are in your own mind and in the perception of others. When you consistently describe yourself as someone who wants to be something rather than someone who is already doing that thing, you create internal resistance to taking yourself seriously.
And if you don’t take your work seriously, why should anyone else?
Where This Language Comes From
The “aspiring writer” identity serves several masters, none of whom have your creative interests at heart.
Industry gatekeeping: Publishing has always operated on scarcity models that benefit from keeping writers insecure. “Aspiring” becomes a polite way to categorize the “not yet worthy” — a holding cell for people whose work might threaten established hierarchies if they claimed their full authority.
Internalized capitalism: We’ve been conditioned to believe work only has value when it generates income. Creative pursuits get dismissed as hobbies until they become profitable, which means most writers spend years believing their daily practice doesn’t count as real work.
Imposter syndrome on steroids: For Black and Brown writers, there’s an additional layer of systemic exclusion. Literary spaces were — and in many cases still are — historically designed without us in mind. The message that we don’t belong gets internalized as evidence that we need extra permission to claim what others take for granted.
As a High Priestess, let me break it down for you: it’s not syndrome at all. It’s an accurate assessment of hostile systems. The solution isn’t to fake confidence until you make it. It’s to recognize that your perspective and voice matter regardless of what those systems tell you.
The Only Real Categories
Strip away the publishing industry’s elaborate hierarchy system and you’re left with simple truth: you’re either writing or you’re not.
Everything else — skill level, frequency, income, recognition — exists on separate spectrums. A beginning writer developing their voice is still a writer, not someone aspiring to become one. A seasoned writer building their reputation doesn’t become more “real” based on their Amazon rankings.
The practice makes you a writer. The commitment to that practice makes you serious about it. External validation makes you published, paid or recognized, but it doesn’t make you legitimate.
You were legitimate the moment you decided to translate your inner world into words on a page.
Why This Language Hurts You
It undermines your own confidence. You can’t advocate for your work if you don’t claim your identity. When you introduce yourself as “aspiring,” you’re telling everyone — including yourself — that your current work is just practice for the real thing that might happen someday.
It signals others to dismiss you. “Aspiring” gives people permission to treat your time as less valuable, your work as less important, your commitment as less serious. It affects how family responds when you need writing time, how potential clients evaluate your services, how other writers see your contributions to the community.
It keeps you stuck in external validation cycles. When your identity depends on other people’s approval, you spend more energy seeking permission than developing your writing craft. You make creative decisions based on what might impress agents or writing circles rather than what serves your vision.
For Black and Brown writers, this hits even harder. We already face additional barriers to recognition and publication. When we add self-diminishing language to systemic exclusion, we’re doing the gatekeepers’ work for them.
What to Say Instead
The truth is simple: “I’m a writer.”
No qualifiers needed if you write regularly. No explanations required. No asterisks about publication status or income level.
When context requires more specificity:
“I write [genre/form]” — focuses on what you do
“I’m developing my [specific skill]” — acknowledges growth without diminishing identity
“I’m working on [current project]” — emphasizes active practice
Each alternative describes your work without asking permission for your identity.
Embodiment in Practice
Claiming writer identity changes how you approach everything. Writers solve problems differently than people who aspire to write someday. Writers make time for their practice because it’s central to who they are, not something they hope to become good enough to deserve.
Writers invest in their craft development. They set boundaries around their creative time. They charge appropriate rates for their services and books when they offer them. They speak about their work with authority because they understand it from the inside.
This isn’t arrogance. It’s honesty about your actual writing practice.
The Resistance You’ll Face
When you stop using “aspiring,” you may encounter pushback from multiple directions. Embodying who you truly are makes people uncomfortable, and people love to try and mold you back into what’s comfortable for them.
From other writers who use “aspiring”: Your confidence may trigger their insecurities about their own legitimacy. Expect comments about humility, realistic expectations, or “getting ahead of yourself.”
From your inner critic: It will feel presumptuous at first to claim your writer identity without external validation. I know this firsthand. That discomfort is normal. You’re rewiring years of conditioning.
From industry voices: Some gatekeepers benefit from keeping writers insecure and grateful for scraps of recognition. Your self-assurance threatens power dynamics built on scarcity and hierarchy.
The resistance proves you’re onto something important.
The Broader Stakes
This isn’t simply a matter of individual word choice. It’s deeper than that. This is about collective creative power.
When writers claim their authority, they create better work. They set higher standards. They negotiate from positions of strength rather than desperation. They build sustainable practices instead of burning out while waiting for external validation.
Here’s where I interrupt this piece to speak directly to Black and Brown writers — MY PEOPLE
I’m sure you’ve read Street War with Uniform Thugs by the amazing Jacquie Verbal. If you haven’t, read it. Toward the end, she says:
Protesting in the streets is not the only way to fight this war. I would go as far as to let the “allies” protest in the streets while we protest with our pens. - Jacquie Verbal
I wholeheartedly agree with this. They want us out in the streets so they can shoot us down under the guise peacekeeping. This is why we especially need to stop this bullshit of calling ourselves “aspiring writers.”
We are writers, and there is work to be done. Stories to tell. Perspectives to share. Healing to facilitate through honest representation. The world needs our voices now, not when some arbitrary authority finally grants us permission to use them. We may never be “granted” permission. But the truth is, we don’t need it. We are the blueprint. The time has come to pick up the mantel left by our ancestors and make an impact through our words — in whatever form that might look like, be it fiction, personal or thematic essays, business books, etc. The Story Temple exists to teach you not only how to get the words out of you, but to also make them felt. And once you’re done writing, we have people like Jacquie to help you publish and send it out into the world.
The Challenge
Stop using “aspiring” immediately. Make a conscious effort. Notice how often you diminish your identity in conversation, in your bio, on social media. Practice introducing yourself as a writer without qualifiers. It will feel uncomfortable. Do it anyway.
Watch how claiming your identity changes how you approach your work and how others respond to you.
If you write, you’re a writer. Not an aspiring one. Not a wannabe. Not someone hoping to become legitimate someday.
The only thing you’re aspiring to is becoming a better writer — which is what every writer at every level is doing, from the complete beginner to the Nobel laureate.
Stop waiting for permission to claim what’s already yours.
Our communities, our stories, our collective healing — all of it depends on writers who know they’re writers. Not writers who are still asking permission to become something they already are.
The work is too important, and the time is now.
About the author: Lakeisha guides writers beyond amateur-hour advice through The Story Temple’s writing energetics framework. Whether you’re crafting novels, business books or essays that aim to shift perspectives, her four-element system reveals why some work transforms readers while other writing — no matter how well-crafted — gets ignored.
If you write to create change, not just convey information, you belong here.
This is so true. When you assign yourself a label, that gives permission for others to apply it to you. "You don't need to pay attention to her. She's just an aspiring writer. Check in again when she becomes a real one." All our perspectives need to be shared. How else can we ever understand each other or where the other person is coming from? I can give an anecdote from personal experience. A Black writer had written about what her protagonist had to go through to get a medical appointment. (I believe the setting was Chicago.) I was horrified and asked her if it was really like that. She replied that it was, for Blacks, at least in the US. I would never have known if she hadn't written about it.
Reading this was an eye opener.
Honestly, prior to reading this, I never would of saw the harm of someone calling themselves an aspiring writer if they are a beginner.
Numerous times I heard writers had quit their dreams due to allowing other publications or professors labeling them in a negative away that distorted them from their path
Calling your aspiring writer is like waiting for permission to be called a real writer.
Again, appericate you for this insight and hopefully I can change the way I see myself.