Reckon: to regard or think of as.

That is how Mr .Webster defines the word, and it is a good description of what I went through over the weekend. I attended a writer’s conference at a little lake retreat that was actually billed as a Mentoring Conference. That meant I actually had to decide if I was a magazine writer, novelist, non-fiction book writer, children’s author, or screen writer and then sign up with the appropriate mentor. 
I picked magazines, since that is the only place I’ve been published so far. My mentor was an amazing gentleman named Eric Reed of Christianity Today International. One of the most important things he did for our little group was to challenge us to admit we are writers. I think I’ve been afraid to do that since I was a teenager watching John-Boy hide his Red Chief tablet and stubby pencil under the mattress so his family wouldn’t find out he longed to squander his life as a writer instead of taking up a sensible profession like cutting timber on Walton’s mountain.
So, I reckoned myself a writer. I sat at breakfast and chatted with the acquisitions editor of Harvest House. I exchanged pleasantries with the children’s editor from Tyndale, and I boldly accosted the screenwriter from L.A. and asked if my daughter could interview her for a book.
And, do you know what I discovered? They are real people, with real issues, and real dreams not-yet-fulfilled just like the rest of us. And, I am one of them. I’m a writer.