It occurred to me this morning that we writers are not quite like other people. I'm not sure why it did. It just popped into my thoughts, out of the blue. I was sitting at my computer, trying to come up with a totally unique way of making a much-detested neighbor's body disappear, leaving no forensic evidence behind. And it occurred to me that most people probably don't spend minutes, hours—hell, DAYS—creating such scenarios in their heads. And I felt a little sad for them.
Yes, we're different.
For one thing, standing in line at the supermarket is not as boring for us as it is for "regular" people. Those are not fellow customers in front of us, those are potential characters: villains, victims, little-buddy-sidekick-comic-relief, princesses to be rescued, dead bodies to be autopsied. It's probably best if they don't know this. It might creep them out.
And there are, of course, the cats.
There's no law or rule or How To Become An Author In Ten Easy Lessons book suggestion that writers should have cats. But more often than not, that's the way it works out. I'm not sure why. Maybe we admire their independence. Maybe we enjoy the air of mystery that frequently surrounds them. Maybe it's because we know that when we're deep into one of our everything is going right/brilliant words are pouring out/real world? what real world? bubbles of authorliness, and they get hungry, they won't be subtle about it. They'll crawl onto the keyboard, or start chewing on the pencil as we write, or reach up and get nose-to-nose with us with that "Feed me or die, you $!#& idiot human!" look. Yes, we are aware that if we (at least those of us who live sans other humans) had a puppy or a hamster or an iguana, it would starve to death.
We have slightly different priorities, we writers do. The main one being: Oh my god, I'm out of coffee!!!!! Does that no-coffee-in-the-house moment drive architects, short-order cooks, toll booth workers, kindergarten teachers, or nuclear physicists as totally batsh*t as it does a writer? I suspect not.
We can work around out-of-ink pens, file-eating computers, incessantly noisy jackhammers digging up our street, lack of sleep (see: jackhammers), cats wailing to be fed, kids doing the same thing, or Jehovah's Witnesses ringing the doorbell at the very second we finally grab on to the word that's been on the tip of our tongue all morning (and, whoosh!, it's gone again!), but do not mess with our coffee. And let's not even get into the chocolate thing.
Yes, we're different. And we wouldn't have it any other way. And neither would you. Where do you think your favorite novels come from, anyway? Normal people? Puh-leeze!
Yes, we're different.
For one thing, standing in line at the supermarket is not as boring for us as it is for "regular" people. Those are not fellow customers in front of us, those are potential characters: villains, victims, little-buddy-sidekick-comic-relief, princesses to be rescued, dead bodies to be autopsied. It's probably best if they don't know this. It might creep them out.
And there are, of course, the cats.
There's no law or rule or How To Become An Author In Ten Easy Lessons book suggestion that writers should have cats. But more often than not, that's the way it works out. I'm not sure why. Maybe we admire their independence. Maybe we enjoy the air of mystery that frequently surrounds them. Maybe it's because we know that when we're deep into one of our everything is going right/brilliant words are pouring out/real world? what real world? bubbles of authorliness, and they get hungry, they won't be subtle about it. They'll crawl onto the keyboard, or start chewing on the pencil as we write, or reach up and get nose-to-nose with us with that "Feed me or die, you $!#& idiot human!" look. Yes, we are aware that if we (at least those of us who live sans other humans) had a puppy or a hamster or an iguana, it would starve to death.
We have slightly different priorities, we writers do. The main one being: Oh my god, I'm out of coffee!!!!! Does that no-coffee-in-the-house moment drive architects, short-order cooks, toll booth workers, kindergarten teachers, or nuclear physicists as totally batsh*t as it does a writer? I suspect not.
We can work around out-of-ink pens, file-eating computers, incessantly noisy jackhammers digging up our street, lack of sleep (see: jackhammers), cats wailing to be fed, kids doing the same thing, or Jehovah's Witnesses ringing the doorbell at the very second we finally grab on to the word that's been on the tip of our tongue all morning (and, whoosh!, it's gone again!), but do not mess with our coffee. And let's not even get into the chocolate thing.
Yes, we're different. And we wouldn't have it any other way. And neither would you. Where do you think your favorite novels come from, anyway? Normal people? Puh-leeze!
RSS Feed
