A Writer Writes, Right?

I understand that writing is an art, and everyone should have the right of complete freedom of expression, but here I am, almost forty, having hoarded all of my writing, and I am now encountering individuals who claim they are writers when asked what they do. Out of interest, I check out his/ her blog and unfailingly it reads something like: "It was sure cold out this morning! Glad I wore my mittens!! Drank some hot cocoa and took a dump!" Well, bravo for an almost ideal start to the day, but does this really constitute 'writing'? Really, isn't it just typing?
I don't want to burst anyone's bubble, but that's like me saying I am an artist and then proudly showing a blob of playdough I squeezed into some sort of animal figure. I guess I could call myself an artist, but wouldn't that be insulting to artists who took the time to lovingly craft their work into something special? Does simply posting a blog, sending an email, or writing down a grocery list constitute writing? If so, then I have been way, way too hard on myself.
I been writing since I was a child and have notebooks full, although many pieces I crumpled up and threw in the waste basket. Terrible. Not good enough. Could be better. In my creative writing class in high school where we had to read our stories aloud to the class on Fridays, I would skip school in order to avoid this dreaded obligation. My teacher finally sat me down for an intervention.
"Dana, you have to come to class on Fridays or you will fail."
"I can't." My heart was hammering, threatening to leap out of my chest.
"I'm sorry. You have to. If you come to class on Fridays, you will most certainly get a good grade. No Fridays, you fail. It's your decision."
I started going to class on Fridays. I remember the first time I read one of my stories out loud (science fiction/ horror, about 40 pages), once I had finished, there was silence. Then, a giant football player who sat in the front row blurted out, "Holy shit! You wrote that?" Yes, I had, but even then, my confidence was not boosted. I could do better, I knew. I just needed more time...
Flash forward more than twenty years later, I am still waiting for that perfect moment, the perfect piece. But as I have found with many other facets of my life, it is never the right time, some things are never good enough. The fact remains that my husband is still the only one who has read most of what I have written. He has been my biggest source of encouragement, though not the first. My teachers encouraged me. My friends encouraged me. One friend in particular actually used a couple of my pieces for submission in her college creative writing course on which she got A's (please dont tell). Apparently, this still was not enough.
At this point in time, I still hold my cards very closely to my chest. The anonymity of the internet helps immensely. I can put my work out there and hope for feedback, good or bad. The good feedback is instant gratification. The bad, or negative feedback gives you the tools and motivation you need to improve, hopefully.
That being said, what qualifies as 'writing'? A word? A sentence? A paragragh? A minimum of 300 pages? It's not the quantity that qualifies a piece as 'writing', it's the quality, the substance. Be it short, long, bitter, sweet, funny, sad, horrifying or uplifting, it should reveal something. This is not to say it has to be profound, just...thoughtful. All writers should have a perspective, and hopefully a fresh new one, not just state the obvious. As in any art form, it's all relative, and it's all in the interpretation. And everyone one of us has a different one. I can't wait to read yours.