Wednesday, July 17, 2013
A Dab Will Do You
I found this picture today, and I can't tell you how true it is. I spent many years looking for a place to belong. I bounced from social group to social group; made friends and outgrew them. I was a bookworm, a weird kid, the loud one. I was too quiet, then too opinionated, with bright red hair and funky glasses. People didn't know how to take me.
And then I started hanging out with other writers.
The thing that's beautiful about other writers is, we're all nuts. There isn't a "normal" writer out there. Sure, some people pretend to be by covering breaking news stories or writing hit screenplays, but the fact of the matter is, we're all a little weird. Some of us are a lot of weird. There's no way around it. I mean, you have to be different in order to live in a completely fictional world (or maybe a non-fiction world, but definitely when you weren't in it) and interact with imaginary people. We get so invested in our work, we feel emotionally connected to them, to the point that reading something terrible in their lives makes us cry. They are our friends, the world our creation, the story our baby. And when it's good, it's great. And when it's bad, well, let's just say there are still some novels I'm not on speaking terms with.
Other writers get it. You don't have to have that awkward introduction where you tell the person you're a writer, almost like it's an apology. "I'm sorry my behavior will make you consider having me committed. But it's okay. I'm a writer." When you're with other Children of the Corn, you just delve into it. And they reciprocate. And it's awesome.
I wish I had more writer friends. Admittedly, I haven't been writing much, but I believe support is invaluable whether you're working on a project or not. Bloggers are certainly writers as well, though a different flavor perhaps. I'd like to find some of those as well. So, if you know of anyone interesting, point them my way.
And make sure they bring their anti-psychotics. I'm running low.