So I wrote this originally on March 9, 2011 and posted it on my facebook, but I really like it so here it is again:
I’ve seen a posty memey thingy bouncing around that talks about reasons why you shouldn’t ever date a writer. And I find it to be true, to a point. But I think it goes even deeper than that. Way waaaaaaay deeper. Frankly, you should probably get the hell away from us in general. Anybody. Not just the people we date. But everybody. See us in line at the Super Fresh? Run, don’t walk. Escape. Avoid. Little sirens should be going off in your heads when you see us. Listen to them and get the hell out of there. On a good day, we’re eccentric troublemakers. On a bad day, we’re malevolent sociopaths.
And with writers, it’s usually a bad day.
So. Here’s a little note to clarify why you should stay at least 50 feet away from us at all times, lest we sink our vampire teeth into your body and drain you of all the things that made you pure and good. See, the things that make us good writers?
They make us awful people.
Imagine a dangling, ragged sign around our necks:
BEWARE OF WRITER.
Here we go!
1.THE GLASS IS NEVER HALF EMPTY, RATHER HALF FULL OF BADGER PEE
We are all pessimists, cynics, hypochondriacs and conspiracy theorists. In our fiction, the world must be broken. We must think of the worst. It’s what fuels the fire. Nobody wants to read a story about happy ponies sipping from the molasses pond and then they all dance and have all the hay they want and rainbows and bags of gold and leprechauns and assorted such nonsense — that’s just crap. Twee, waffling crap.
Fiction demands that we go to the well and draw up the most stagnant water we can find, and so we look for the worst in the world around us. We get used to it. We accept it as the norm. We know the worst can happen. We know it because we write about it. Some dude will come up behind you on the park bench and saw your head off. Your plane? Gonna crash. That mole in your armpit? ARMPIT CANCER. There is no way around it. Just accept it and move on.
2. OUR TONGUES ARE FORKED
We are lying liars who lie. We have to be. Fiction is a lie. Non-fiction is, in its own way, a lie. When writing, deception is a skill. This, like so much of the thread that goes into our wretched quilt, trails into our real lives and ensures that the best writers make the most powerful liars. We can convince you of anything. We don’t mean to. It’s just — well, it’s like John Cusack’s character says in Grosse Pointe Blank:
Martin: You do it because you are trained to do it, you have the strength to do it and the courage to do it… and ultimately (pause) you get to like it. I know that sounds bad.
Debi: You’re a psychopath.
Martin: No, no, no. Psychopaths kill for no reason, I kill for money, it’s a job — that didn’t sound right.
I lie to people all the time, by the way. Not in bad ways. I’ve learned to control my foul serpent’s tongue. Now I just see if I can convince them of truly egregious lies. Like, I once convinced someone I was born with a tail. I know, horrible, right? But at least I’m not lying about, you know, real stuff. At least that’s what I tell myself when I'm not make shit up all day.
3. CONFLICT AND MISERY MAKE BETTER STORIES
In life, we avoid conflict. In fiction, we strive for it. Except, remember how I said something about the lines blurring? Mmm. Yeah. We get to a state where escalation and drama feel normal. We work to achieve those things so diligently that it’s hard to snap out of that mode. In a fight, we’re more likely to escalate beyond the point of rationality because — hey, whoever is up there in Never-Never-Land reading this Book Of Your Life is going to appreciate your attention to these details. “Yeah,” your imaginary cosmic reader says, “now break that plate! Do it! Kick the car door and put a dent in it! Conflict! Escalation! Drama!”
Of course, no such cosmic reader exists.
Our lives are not big books.
But don’t tell us that, or we’ll stab you in the thigh with a ZEBRA ball-point pen.
4. PUPPET MASTERS BE WE
We control our characters. Don’t believe the nonsense that we’re swept away by our muse and the characters control us. Pshhh. Naw. Nuh-uh. We’re the puppetmasters. And so in life, we get confused when we can’t control you and everyone else around us. Oh, I didn’t say we wouldn’t try, though.
We'll always try.
5. WE ARE THE CREEPY LONERS OF THE WORLD
We do so well alone that we don’t always do so well with other people. If we were a dog, the warning on our kennel door would say, “Not Socialized.” Or, “Doesn’t Play Well With Others.” Or, “Will Stab You In The Thigh With A Zebra Pen.” And the real kicker is that we don’t so really like being solitary. It’s just our natural state. We hide and bury ourselves in the midst of our own surrounding, which are often our bedrooms or other natural caverns and catacombs. We are basically some genetic combination between “earthworm” and “Bigfoot.”
Bigworm. Or Earthfoot... Something like that at least. Whatever.
6. WE ARE CRAZY, BUT NEVER SPEAK SUCH FALSITY OUT LOUD!!
When writing, a little dab of mental illness is a feature, not a bug. Our obsessions and neuroses drive us with the verve and tenacity of a crack-addled howler monkey. Our depressive tendencies, provided they allow us to get out of bed, show us a broken world, and as noted, a broken world is particularly good for our fiction. Our narcissism and megalomania help us get through the day by convincing us we’re actually really awesome at this, yeah, hells yeah, woooo, and then those depressive tendencies kick in again and bring us back to earth and drive us to improve, improve, improve our crap-twat writing. We’re like addicts, pinballing back and forth between uppers and downers, smart drugs and hallucinogens, only without the actual drugs.
Thing is, when not writing, a little dab of mental illness is a big ol’ bug and not much of a feature (outside our ability to entertain others with our misery and melodrama).
7. WE STEAL SOULS LIKE A CAMERA
Just as we are liars, we are also thieves. Your life is our fiction. Oh, no, we don’t steal it on purpose. As noted: we have compulsions. That whole write-what-you-know thing? It’s not advice. It’s a curse. Don’t worry. We won’t use your soul exactly as it's been taken. We’ll screw with it first. Molest it with our greasy ham-hands. Of course, you’ll be reading something and say, “Is that me?”
And the writer will say, “No, no, of course not.”
Because the writer is a stinky poo-poo liar who freaking lies.
8.OUR WRITING IS HOLY, DO NOT DARE DEFILE LEST YOU WISH TO REAP THE VENGEANCE OF THE GODS
We elevate our writing to sacred cosmic necessity. If you befoul the temple with your distraction — even if that distraction is, say, “Hey, I’m being eaten to death by mice over here, so if you could maybe kick a few of these guys off of me?” — you will earn our wrath.
“No, I cannot help you with your lame, retarded, flesh-eating mouse problem I TOLD YOU I WAS WRITING HOLY CHEEZE IT YOU DON’T RESPECT ME.”
9. WE WILL FORCE YOU TO READ OUR CRAP
“Here,” we’ll say, dropping a 50-lb. manuscript in your lap. “It’s my masterpiece.”
“Okay,” you’ll respond.
“Read it.”
“It’s awfully big.”
“Yeah, but read it anyway.”
“Okay. I have some things to take care of first like, say, getting these mice to stop boring holes in my flesh.”
“Sweet.”
Two days later, we return:
“Did you read it?”
“OW THE MICE ARE IN MY BRAIN”
“I guess that’s a no.” * insert disappointed pout*
“CHEWING MY SYNAPSES”
“Pshh. You don’t respect me and my work.”
Then we storm out.
Sooo... Okay, yeah, we’re sort of apeshit moonbat, but once you become aware of our, umm, danger signs, we can mitigate our worst behaviors. But still, let this serve as a warning. Writers sometimes seem brightly colored and fascinating, but really, those are just nature’s way of warning you off. Think of us as the human equivalent to the poison dart frogs. You don't mess around with those little killers: Oh so pretty! Want to touch the froggy! Except: poisonous skin that kills with one touch.
Beware of writer
