I have been a writer ever since I reached through the rail of my bed and used poop to create a brilliant poem on the nursery wall. Few understood it, fewer read it, and no one was looking forward to the next piece.

Not to let failure dim my aspirations, I continued with chalk, crayon, paint — graduating to pencils, biros, keyboards. The carriers of this entertainment included: footpaths, more walls, cardboard, fabric, limbs, paper, screens. Much of the world makes similar progress: writing, drawing, creating on all manner of media with the tools at hand.

But now, now I have transitioned away from writer. Now I am an author, and what a change that makes. Weird and wonderful.

Even though my ‘author’ badge is new and shiny, here are some warming quotations to share.

• “I’ve never sat in a car with an actual author.” UNIQUENESS

• “You’re the first person I know who is an author.” RECOGNITION

• “Can you sit with me and go through how you write a novel?” EXPERTISE

• “When is the sequel coming out?” APPRECIATION

Wow. Who’d have thought? It seems validation of my status in society as ‘author’ is confirmed. No one ever called me a writer.

Experience points to publishing as the tipping point in most people’s view. It is not a seesaw. You either are or are not. Once there, there is no going back — much like moving from under-graduate to graduate.

Now that I am an author who writes, I bet many will regret failing to recognise the beauty in that inaugural poem. More seriously, I think publishing my novel has been a liberating experience. One that gave me the desire to produce more stories for people to immerse themselves in. Ah, maybe that’s the key to my early failure. After all, who wants to immerse themselves in poop poetry?

Stick with whatever you are writing and share it with a world hungry for more. You will get there, and it is well worth the persistence. Write on.