Writing unsolicited, uncompensated newspaper columns for more than a decade has brought me to the conclusion that I am less of a “writer” than a “content provider,” a term I find demoralizing. Not that I’m complaining, exactly; I enjoy writing and being read, especially when a “fan” stops you in the grocery store to tell you how much he or she enjoyed reading something unbelievably clever or profound that you published in the community weekly (like this fine publication). That does kind of make your day.

Yes, I have degrees in journalism and creative writing, and I’ve worked as a newspaper reporter, advertising copywriter and university speech writer. I’ve even won a handful of national awards, including inclusion in the Typo Hall of Fame (there must be one, right?).

Editing a university newsletter for faculty and staff, I wrote a headline about then-governor Angus King and left out the “g” in his first name. Think about it. (My first phone caller, of many, wondered if the mangled name was a political statement.) Despite all that, I am still reluctant to call myself a writer.

I find it hilarious (and annoying) in those Prevagen TV commercials (selling some voodoo complex of medically suspicious drug-free compounds claiming to improve your brain health) when the pompous pill promoters, after running through their polished professional resumes, almost always end their inflated spiels with the claim, “And I write.”

Wow. They write! And they typically say it with the same unearned chutzpah the former president demonstrated when he claimed he could declassify top secret documents by simply thinking about it. It’s kind of like the guy on the Rotary Club speaking tour who, when asked the nature of his subject matter, proudly declares “I pontificate.” When I meet new people at a party or other special event, my wife sometimes introduces me as her husband, a writer. Smiling on the outside, I’m cringing on the inside, thinking, “No, I’m really a retired fly fisherman and lawn care specialist.”

It just sounds pretentious to call yourself a writer unless you have some real street cred. I have the same problem with PhDs (and EdDs) who insist on being called “Doctor.” Which is also confusing, leading you to ask them, “So, what is your medical specialty?” And while I’m ranting, how about those people who know a lot about wine and never miss an opportunity to let you know how much they know. And related, people who read really challenging books like “Ulysses,” “War and Peace” and “Gravity’s Rainbow” (an admirable thing in itself) but somehow find ways to interject obscure literary references into nearly every conversation.

OK, I write. But does that make me a writer? Perhaps if one of my dust-gathering attempts at novel writing ever gets published (by a real publisher, not a vanity press) I might be inclined to accept the moniker. Until then, I feel like I’m more of a, well, yes, a content provider.

Steven Price is a Kennebunkport resident. He can be reached at sprice1953@gmail.com.

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