Yesterday, I went to a writer’s night to see a couple friends perform their songs. I’ve attended other writer’s nights, but last night… last night was just something special for me.

I sat down, and I listened. Really listened. Oh okay, I snapped a few photos, but I was there to be a spectator, not a photographer. My husband commented that I had a smile on my face the whole time.

For me, it was not just about the music, it was about watching these people living their dreams. Writing their songs and performing for people who want to hear them. I was so proud of my friends. So happy for them!

And… I was in awe.

See, when someone asks me what I do, I used to respond, “I’m a writer!”

I don’t do that any more. Not that I’m not a writer (blogger), but when you say “writer” in Nashville, people think you are a songwriter. And, hey, its an easy and logical assessment! Music city. Writer. Music. Songs. Songwriter. Makes sense.

But, alas, no. I am no songwriter. In fact, I am in awe of songwriters. I admire their abilities to convey such emotion through their words. I admire their ability to tell a whole story in a few verses and a chorus. I admire their ability to take a throw away hook and turn it into a work of art.

I write, but I can’t craft a song. I don’t even do (serious) poetry. I might write the random limerick or haiku for humor-sake. Perhaps a cute little rhyme here and there. But past that? I leave the song writing to the professionals. I admire their talents. I respect them. And I sincerely wish them all the success in the world doing it.