Writers are just like everyone else. We put our pants on one leg at a time… the few times a year we’re forced to actually wear pants.
While there’s nothing really special about writers, there are some special issues and challenges writers face that functional people in society do not. I call these issues and challenges “‘write people’ problems.” Because I’m clever like that.
Below are a few of the most common “write people” problems I know of… first-hand, unfortunately.
High pajama costs. Pajamas are designed for light activities like sleeping, eating breakfast, and crying over a break-up; they are not designed for all-day, everyday use. Since most writers take their pajamas off only for the occasional dinner out and, depending on their mood, for book signings, they have to replace them much more frequently than a normal human being does. The costs can get out of hand. And when you consider the average quarterly royalty check for a novelist is just $27 (less if they write important literary fiction), there’s very little money left over for bourbon and other essentials. Some writers have taken to working in the nude to reduce or eliminate their pajama costs, but for those who live in cooler climates, the savings are usually offset by increased heating bills.
Driving under the influence, times two. Lots of people drive drunk, but only writers are at risk of driving drunk AND distracted by their characters or next book idea. It’s a disease, and a deadly combination – even more dangerous than driving on LSD or getting into a vehicle operated by a teenager with a smartphone. In some communities, concerned citizens have started chapters of EAWD – Everyone Against Writers Driving, forcing authors in those communities to rely solely on public transportation. On the upside, using public transportation is one of the best ways to get ideas for captivating murder and sex scenes.
Panic attacks while relaxing on vacation. If you’ve ever been to a tropical resort or on a luxury cruise and witnessed somebody hyperventilating and screaming while pulling their hair out, you’ve seen a writer on vacation. At the insistence of their spouse, significant other or therapist, many writers attempt to “get away from it all” and go on a trip to take a break from their craft. But it’s like asking a fish to ride a camel. The result is invariably a lot of pain and suffering and flopping about in the sun. Please, if your loved one is a writer, don’t attempt to sweep them away to paradise or surprise them with the vacation of a lifetime. For chrissake, try to be more sensitive.
Getting woken up in the middle of the night by fictional people. Underdeveloped characters can be real dicks. They don’t care if it’s two or three or four in the morning; if they’ve got something they want to say or do, they’re going to wake their writer’s ass up and make sure the writer lets them say or do it. Or they’ll at least keep the writer awake until a compromise can be reached. That’s why most of the writers you know usually look exhausted, unkempt and frazzled. That, and the fact that they’re on pace to break the Guinness Book of World Records for most rejections notices received in a month.
Real friends and family not measuring up to imaginary ones. Despite their tendency to disrupt writers’ sleep and traffic safety, most fictional people are cool – far more compelling and interesting than real people. Thus, writers must contend with constantly being bored and disappointed by their friends and loved ones. True, there are some writers lucky enough to have actual serial killers or hit men or crime bosses or CIA agents or sorcerers in their family, but that is certainly not the norm. Unless the writer is from New Mexico.
Keeping track of lies. Nobody fabricates more than fiction writers, with the possible exception of real estate agents and Norwegians. And while making sh*t up all the time is fun, keeping it all straight can be tedious. You try remembering the color and exact model of the car you said your protagonist drives back in Chapter 1 or how many siblings you said his mistress has or even what day of the week you claim your whole damn story even started. If even just one tidbit doesn’t line up with previous statements or descriptions, a writer can lose the trust of the reader forever – not that authors should ever really be trusted. They kill people and get away with it far too often.
One final “write people” problem I’d like to mention is the excessive need for external validation of their work. So, if you don’t mind, kindly leave a comment below expressing how much you loved this post or my novel. Sorry, I mean this post AND my novel.
As a kid in school, writing caused me great discomfort. Now, as an adult, NOT writing does.
Sure, I can usually make it two or three days without working on a novel or a blog post or a suicide note, but after that I absolutely MUST write. Or pop some OxyContin. Preferably both.
I totally get what Franz Kafka meant when he famously said, “A non-writing writer is a monster courting insanity.” (Granted, he was being a little dramatic, but what do you expect from a man whose most famous story is about a guy who turns into a giant insect during an existential crisis?) Even when I’m on vacation in paradise with my beautiful wife, I need to scratch out a page here and there to keep the crazy away. Too much sun and surf and relaxation terrifies me.
So why is that? What exactly is it that compels me and many others to write… and novels, no less? I’d like to think it’s because I’m a passionate artist. But according to George Orwell, it’s because I’m a masochistic psychopath:
“Writing a book is a horrible, exhausting struggle, like a long bout of some painful illness. One would never undertake such a thing if one were not driven on by some demon which one can neither resist nor understand.“
So, if Kafka’s correct, I’ll go crazy if I don’t write. But if Orwell’s correct, I’m crazy if I DO write.
But the REALLY crazy thing is, they’re both right.
So the next time an author tells you they write for the pure joy of it, call bullsh*t.
Tell them you know about the monsters and the demons.
Tell them you know about the Kafka/Orwell paradox.
Tell them you know the pain of writing a book is exceeded only by the agony of leaving the pages blank.
After spending ten months with my main characters – living inside their heads (and they inside mine), experiencing their fear and excitement and joy and sorrow – it’s over. The last page has been written. All I can do is look back and remember.
Okay, and edit.
Still, going through my manuscript and making tweaks here and there isn’t the same as hanging out with my characters in real time. It’s like going to visit a former lover soon after a breakup. You can take back some things you said, and you can say some things you should have said the first time around, and it definitely helps, but deep down you already know your magic time together is over.
I miss how my protagonist used to wake me up in the middle of the night to tell me something vital. I miss sitting down with him and figuring out how the hell we were going to get him where he needed to go. Do what he needed to do. Overcome what he needed to overcome.
I miss putting him through hell in order to save him.
And I miss his friends. His enemies, too. I miss the whole story. Creating it, living it.
They say the best way to get over a lost love is to find a new one. And I have. I’ve already started working on my next novel. In fact, I’d started fooling around with it even before I finished my last one. So I guess you could say I was unfaithful. But in my defense, I’ve always had an unspoken open relationship with my novels. That said, it is a bit one-sided; I’m allowed to see other stories, but my stories aren’t allowed to see other authors.
Even though I have met another manuscript, the pain of having finished my last one still lingers. I keep seeing the faces and hearing the voices of the characters I’ve come to know so well. Sometimes I even call out their names when I’m getting busy with my new novel, which is awkward for everyone involved.
I realize that, in time, I will come to love my new characters as much as I do my older, more fully developed ones. And that helps to take some of the pain away. But I also know one day in the not-too-distant future I’ll have to say goodbye to those new characters, too. And then I’ll be right back where I am now. Missing my beloved imaginary friends. Wondering what they’re up to. Hoping they’ll somehow be able to move on without me. And I without them.
NOTE: I’ll be sure to keep you all updated on when the novel I recently finished writing is actually available, which should be sometime between Spring/Summer 2016 and the winter of my discontent. Of course, you could always kill the time by picking up a copy of my LAST novel. Just saying.
