Yesterday I was at an event and a friend introduced me to her friend as a “journalist.”
Even when I worked for the Sun-Sentinel, I didn’t like being called a journalist. I was not a reporter; I didn’t cover the news; I wrote long, evocative, (ideally) timeless stories about the places I traveled to.
“More of a writer,” I corrected my friend.
“I don’t know the difference,” my friend said, a little abashed.
I didn’t want to get into a long discussion, nor to sound boastful.
“Journalists have jobs,” I said, sounding, I hoped, the opposite of pompous. “Writers freelance.”
