Do I Have the Write to Call Myself a Writer?

I am way out of my comfort zone. My former writing "career" was limited to one-page, emotional outpourings for family occasions, often years apart, until April 2010. That was when my husband, Mike, finally convinced me to begin writing down the thoughts for a story, born of a single idea, which had been rolling around in my brain for at least eight years. 
We spent hours discussing where to take that single idea and, although now I can't remember exactly when, finally fashioned it into its current incarnation. Its first life took form in a short story my youngest daughter wrote for a college writing project. Seven years later, Mike constructed the framework of the first four chapters and, not long after that, the characters told the story. Broken Road was written...and revised...and revised...and revised...². (That's "squared,” not a footnote.) 
The characters in Broken Road are almost literally like my children. They woke me in the wee, small hours of many mornings, often brought me to tears, and letting them go into the big, wide world is scary.