We writers aren’t so unique, you know. It’s not the Writer who is especially unique—though we often in our self-indulgent brilliance think it is so—it is our personalities and tics and weirdnesses that are unique. Some of us are just a wee bit more cray or intense or discombobulated than others and if we happen to be writers, well then now—stir it all together and it’s a pot of deliciously toxic soup! But for the sake of this post, I’m thinking about writing and writers and the inner worlds we must thrash around in while all manner of chaos stomps round in our heads.
We writers do think we see the world unlike mere mortals. Yeah. We do. Of course we do. We walk about with our heads in the clouds, or huddle inside our little spaces with far away dreamy dreamland eyes that rarely blink. I once didn’t blink for a week—no! Really! When one of my eyeballs fell out, I thought, “Dang! I better blink.” So I popped that eyeball back in and it was most unpleasant. Believe you me, after that, I made sure I blinked every once and a while. Staring off into the great space of our inner-mind isn’t so bad when we are alone, but when we are with people it can be a little unnerving and annoying—for us and for the other person. Suddenly, someone is staring at you expectantly while waiting for you to respond. Dang. We can both resent the intrusion and be apologetically alarmed by the assessment of other humans who feel left out of our little world.
Though life and circumstance has lately challenged my reclusive-living life, I’m very much the reclusive kind of writer. Actually, there’s only rumor that I really do exist at all. No! Really! There’s no one who can really prove I’m not a fabrication of everyone’s imagination—okay, there are some who have seen me, waiflike and ethereal, meandering in an otherworldly way. I’m so incredibly cute—um, in a weirdly dangerous to myself way (having your head in the clouds while out in the predator-filled woods or while driving—not so good; haw!)—but I promise I am absolutely not dangerous to others—Hahahaha! No sirree. I don’t even see others most of the time. Oh. Well. Yeah. Er.
We often think of really strange things because our characters are doing all this cool stuff and we want to do it too. We want to have all that excitement, and mysterious happenings, and all that good hot sex. Woooowheee. We have fallen in love with our characters; we have wanted to be friends with our characters—have coffee with them or go on adventures with them; we’ve wanted to slap characters ten ways to Mars and then go up to Mars and kick their asses back to Earth so we can send them back to Mars.
Sometimes I think of chunking this writing life—well, I have actually done that, for six long years other than some fits and starts and longings. You don’t believe me? Well, buh-leeve me it is true; if you look at the date on my last published book it will tell the tale. [Read more…]