Why I Have the Audacity.

I refer to myself as a writer. It may seem a highfalutin conceit to do so, in light of the fact that I have (thus far) one "published," as in print-on-demand book (which has raked in a grand total of $42,) a second completed manuscript which is floating around the house hoping to garner enough positive feedback that I'll have the heart to send it forth into the unkind abyss of editorial slush piles, and a hard drive full of silly columns, written for a variety of silly purposes.
So, I'm not Michael Crichton. Or Lemony Snicket. Or even Barbara Cartland(...pant pant...oh. Maybe you've never read her.)
But here's what it boils down to.
If I'm not working on a writing project I am miserable and anxious.
If I am working on a writing project, I feel grounded and sane.
Those are the facts, and, believe me, I've tested them.
If my compulsion was to apply acrylic paint to canvas, and I persisted in doing so without hope of compensation, could I call myself an artist?
If I tootled my whistle every Tuesday night with my friends in a rousing and jovial session, could I call myself a musician?
If my metabolic system didn't function without the regular addition of synthetic insulin, could I call myself a type 1 diabetic?
So, if I must write to keep my mood and sensibility stable, can I call myself a writer?
I think so anyway.