Some may call this piece a confessional. Others may call it a cry for help. I call it Bernadette. I like to name all of my blog posts.
That's just one of the freaky things I do as a writer. There are many more.
That shouldn’t come as a total shock. A massive study on mental illness and creativity by renowned psychiatrist Dr. Arnold Ludwig found that nearly 80 percent of fiction writers are out of their f*cking minds. (I’m paraphrasing, of course. What Dr. Ludwig actually concluded from the study was that 80 percent of fiction writers are crazier than a bag of rabid wolverines.)
I guess the fact that I’m aware of my odd writer habits and idiosyncrasies means I mustn’t be too loony. Still, it probably isn’t safe for me to stop channeling my deceased former therapist for weekly sessions just yet.
Enough of this nonsense. Following is a list of some of the weird stuff I do as a writer:
Book-on-book action. I like to take a copy of one of my own novels, slide it between two really famous novels on my bookshelf, and then just sit back and take it all in. Sometimes I’ll even place my novel on top of a classic. There’s nothing sexual about it; it’s just fun to see The Exit Man acting like it belongs in the same company as The Brothers Karamazov and The Sun Also Rises. I get off on it. So, I guess there is something sexual about it. Maybe tonight I’ll slide The Exit Man between something by Zadie Smith and something by Clarice Lispector.
Post-it Note mania. Be it an idea for a whole new novel or just a tidbit to add to an existing one, when anything writing-related pops into my head, it immediately gets written down on a Post-it Note and stuck to my writing desk or some object lying on it, such as my printer, lamp or cat. (I realize it would make more sense to jot down such ideas and notes in a Word doc or in the ‘Notes’ app on my iPhone, but I’ve always found making sense to be overrated. It’s why I’m a fiction writer.) To make sure my cleaning lady doesn’t remove any of the dozens of yellow sticky notes on or around my writing desk, and doesn’t steal any of the ideas on the sticky notes, I’ve had her sign a “consent not to clean” form for that area of my house, as well as a non-disclosure agreement.
Killing you softly. Whenever I have to name a character who is going to die painfully in whatever book I’m working on, I’ll think back to the people who’ve picked on me or pissed me off the most in my life, or that morning, and voilà. I use only their first name to protect the person’s identity, and myself from a lawsuit. If it’s a highly unique first name – one that I feel would too easily reveal the character’s namesake – I’ll use some variation of the name. Like if Cher ever really insulted or irked me, I’d name the doomed character “Cheryl” or, if the character happened to be a stripper, Cherry.
Increasingly frequent positive reinforcement. Unlike with more traditional jobs, being an author means you have no real boss to provide you with incentives and rewards. Sure, hearing from readers is positive reinforcement in itself, but that’s assuming you have readers and that they like your work. It’s a big if. To ensure I get the reinforcement I need, I give myself little treats whenever I achieve certain goals and objectives. The trouble is, I’ve found I’ve lowered the bar a bit in recent years. Where I used to allow myself a light snack or a cocktail if I wrote a thousand words in one sitting, now I allow myself to eat a whole rotisserie chicken and down half a fifth of vodka just for completing a single paragraph containing fewer than five typos. The other day I properly used the word “nonplussed” in my manuscript and ended up having to see my chiropractor for injuries sustained while patting myself on the back too enthusiastically.
Barnes & Giggle. Okay, I haven’t yet done this one, but I’ve considered it, which is weird enough. Here’s how it would go: I’d bring a copy of my own novel into a Barnes & Noble (which doesn’t carry my book on its shelves; only online) and start laughing hysterically as I pretended to read it in a crowded area, like near the chocolate caramel tarts in the café. Upon seeing me so uncontrollably entertained, several people would end up asking me, “Whatcha reading?” Not wanting to be rude, I’d tell them the title and mention that I got the last copy in the store (“This book is just flying off the shelves!”), but I’d point out they can get the customer service clerk to order them their own copy, and that not doing so would be a great disservice to themselves. This would be a risky and humiliating venture were I a well-known author who someone might recognize. Fortunately, my writing has earned me little to no fame and thus nobody would have any clue who the hell I am.
If, after reading this post, you’re thinking, "This stuff isn't all that weird," then I'm afraid I have some bad news for you: You're a writer.
That's just one of the freaky things I do as a writer. There are many more.
That shouldn’t come as a total shock. A massive study on mental illness and creativity by renowned psychiatrist Dr. Arnold Ludwig found that nearly 80 percent of fiction writers are out of their f*cking minds. (I’m paraphrasing, of course. What Dr. Ludwig actually concluded from the study was that 80 percent of fiction writers are crazier than a bag of rabid wolverines.)
I guess the fact that I’m aware of my odd writer habits and idiosyncrasies means I mustn’t be too loony. Still, it probably isn’t safe for me to stop channeling my deceased former therapist for weekly sessions just yet.
Enough of this nonsense. Following is a list of some of the weird stuff I do as a writer:
Book-on-book action. I like to take a copy of one of my own novels, slide it between two really famous novels on my bookshelf, and then just sit back and take it all in. Sometimes I’ll even place my novel on top of a classic. There’s nothing sexual about it; it’s just fun to see The Exit Man acting like it belongs in the same company as The Brothers Karamazov and The Sun Also Rises. I get off on it. So, I guess there is something sexual about it. Maybe tonight I’ll slide The Exit Man between something by Zadie Smith and something by Clarice Lispector.
Post-it Note mania. Be it an idea for a whole new novel or just a tidbit to add to an existing one, when anything writing-related pops into my head, it immediately gets written down on a Post-it Note and stuck to my writing desk or some object lying on it, such as my printer, lamp or cat. (I realize it would make more sense to jot down such ideas and notes in a Word doc or in the ‘Notes’ app on my iPhone, but I’ve always found making sense to be overrated. It’s why I’m a fiction writer.) To make sure my cleaning lady doesn’t remove any of the dozens of yellow sticky notes on or around my writing desk, and doesn’t steal any of the ideas on the sticky notes, I’ve had her sign a “consent not to clean” form for that area of my house, as well as a non-disclosure agreement.
Killing you softly. Whenever I have to name a character who is going to die painfully in whatever book I’m working on, I’ll think back to the people who’ve picked on me or pissed me off the most in my life, or that morning, and voilà. I use only their first name to protect the person’s identity, and myself from a lawsuit. If it’s a highly unique first name – one that I feel would too easily reveal the character’s namesake – I’ll use some variation of the name. Like if Cher ever really insulted or irked me, I’d name the doomed character “Cheryl” or, if the character happened to be a stripper, Cherry.
Increasingly frequent positive reinforcement. Unlike with more traditional jobs, being an author means you have no real boss to provide you with incentives and rewards. Sure, hearing from readers is positive reinforcement in itself, but that’s assuming you have readers and that they like your work. It’s a big if. To ensure I get the reinforcement I need, I give myself little treats whenever I achieve certain goals and objectives. The trouble is, I’ve found I’ve lowered the bar a bit in recent years. Where I used to allow myself a light snack or a cocktail if I wrote a thousand words in one sitting, now I allow myself to eat a whole rotisserie chicken and down half a fifth of vodka just for completing a single paragraph containing fewer than five typos. The other day I properly used the word “nonplussed” in my manuscript and ended up having to see my chiropractor for injuries sustained while patting myself on the back too enthusiastically.
Barnes & Giggle. Okay, I haven’t yet done this one, but I’ve considered it, which is weird enough. Here’s how it would go: I’d bring a copy of my own novel into a Barnes & Noble (which doesn’t carry my book on its shelves; only online) and start laughing hysterically as I pretended to read it in a crowded area, like near the chocolate caramel tarts in the café. Upon seeing me so uncontrollably entertained, several people would end up asking me, “Whatcha reading?” Not wanting to be rude, I’d tell them the title and mention that I got the last copy in the store (“This book is just flying off the shelves!”), but I’d point out they can get the customer service clerk to order them their own copy, and that not doing so would be a great disservice to themselves. This would be a risky and humiliating venture were I a well-known author who someone might recognize. Fortunately, my writing has earned me little to no fame and thus nobody would have any clue who the hell I am.
If, after reading this post, you’re thinking, "This stuff isn't all that weird," then I'm afraid I have some bad news for you: You're a writer.
