Currently listening to: Her Name is Alice, by Shinedown
Writers are weird. Think about it. By and large, we’re caffeine-fueled lunatics writing down the stories that characters in our head are telling us. Some of us stay up until 5am because we’re struck by an idea that is just too good to wait until morning. Some of us work on our latest manuscripts while we’re supposed to be writing a research paper or conjugating verbs in foreign languages or socializing at a family function. Some of us participate in things like National Novel Writing Month, and write for thirty days straight on a mad mission to hit at least 50k words. Bonus points if you re-read what you’ve written on December 1 and the words have formed coherent sentences with things like plot points and punctuation.
I belong to a few of those groups. Especially the “caffeine-fueled”, “up until 5am”, and “writing while supposed to be doing something else” groups. I would put myself in the NaNoWriMo group as well, but even though I’ve participated about 3 times, I’ve only “won” once. I don’t count Camp projects because I almost never make my goal as large as 50k words for that. But anyway, every now and then it strikes me just how strange writers are. I talk about my writing habits with people who would probably sooner scoop their own eyes out with a melon baller than spend their time writing a novel, and they look at me like I’ve got six extra heads.
But then I take to Twitter, or to the NaNoWriMo facebook page…and almost everyone gets it. Talk about how you accidentally stayed up until 6am writing a few new chapters? At least a few people will raise their hand and assure you that they’ve been there. Some of them were right there with you this morning, in fact. And even the ones who manage to accomplish miraculous feats like steady sleep schedules and not mainlining caffeine (actually…the caffeine usage might be directly related to just how late/early some of us stay up…) at least get the idea. They know what it’s like to have something you just have to write down, and they know why you can’t keep yourself from editing your MS for the fifteenth time or why you agonize over whether or not you really want to brutally murder that character.
Writers are weird. And I love it.