Since the inception of this column, the most common question I’m asked is, “How did you become a columnist?” That question always strikes me as funny – not because it’s wrong, but because I don’t really consider myself a columnist. Although, if you look up the definition, Wikipedia begs to differ. I suppose that puts me at the mercy of semantics.

Nevertheless, I do have a day job and have been lucky enough to experience other careers that I enjoy writing about from time to time. But how did I become a columnist? That’s actually a very good question, so elaborate I shall.

I’ve always enjoyed writing, but I was never sure if I was good at it. Writing, like almost everything else, is subjective. One man’s trash is another man’s treasure. What deems something good or not – whether food, art, music or even playing the kazoo – depends on the audience, and mob mentality is ever fleeting.

Before I started writing for The Dispatch, I had already written 12 chapters of a memoir. Why a memoir? Because those who can’t write, write memoirs, right? I’m kidding, of course.

For the most part, the book covers my Columbus upbringing through college, Top Chef, addiction, depression, happiness, California and eventually back to Columbus again. It’s an interesting story that may never be heard. Why? Because I’m terrified to let anyone read it.

Trust me, the irony of writing publicly for a newspaper while refusing to share my manuscript is not lost on me. In fact, the notion almost bores me because it feels too poetic: the tortured writer who bares all in a tiny corner of a newspaper but won’t let even his wife read his memoir. If only it were that deep.

I remember texting my childhood friend and publisher, Peter, asking if I could submit something for The Dispatch. He didn’t scoff, but I’m fairly certain he was skeptical – and rightfully so. If you know Peter, you know he’s direct. I had no expectation of being published simply because of our friendship. He passed me along to Abigail, the lifestyles editor at the time. I shamelessly sent her my first draft, and the rest is history.

Over time, the column was well received, but my ego grew in the favorable conditions of praise. As a result, my writing began to reflect my hubris. I developed the bad habit of substituting simple words with elevated synonyms. I ended up with a lot of fancy language and far less substance.

That changed one Friday afternoon while my wife and I were out walking. As many of you know, we walk three miles a day. That afternoon, just as we topped the hill across from St. Paul’s Church, a silver Jeep Cherokee slowly pulled alongside us. The driver’s window rolled down, revealing none other than George Hazard – longtime neighbor, English teacher, fellow writer and distinguished gentleman.

In his refined tone, he said, “Mr. Bowen, may I offer a bit of constructive criticism about your column?”

“From you, George, I’ll gladly accept,” I replied.

He told me my writing was too long – that I was losing the reader and could say much more with fewer words. He was right.

His advice lingered, so a few days later I reached out to Abigail and asked for guidance moving forward. Unsurprisingly, she echoed the same sentiment: use my authentic voice instead of elevated word choice. She also suggested a word count. From that point on, writing the column became easier. Simply put, I had to be myself.

I now work with Ashlynd, who provides thoughtful editing and sound feedback. She gives me the freedom to write about just about anything, which is an invaluable responsibility in itself.

In my spare time, I’ve submitted more than 40 pieces of prose to an online platform called Submittable. I’ve received 28 rejections so far. Take it from me – some of my best work has drowned in the sea of “no,” but in a strange way, that’s part of the fun.

I didn’t choose to be a writer. I think writing chose me. I know that sounds cliché, but if you know, you know. Early on, I wrote for others, and my work suffered. Now I write for myself, and I’m rewarded every day.

I’ve decided to humbly accept that I’m a columnist – though it will always sound funny when I say it out loud.

Clay Bowen is a Columbus native who cooked professionally as a chef in fine dining for 12 years and appeared on the third season of Top Chef. He is also a licensed landscape horticulturist. Email him at [email protected].

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