Okay, you know how Muggles don’t get what it’s like being a wizard? And how crazy people don’t know what it’s like being sane and sane people don’t know what it’s like being crazy?
Those who are not writers do not know what it’s like to be a writer. Ask someone who is not infected with the Authorial Virus (Types A through G) what a writer does and you’ll probably get a blank stare. Then that person will noodle it and shrug and say, “He sits up there in his room with his My Little Ponies, pooping fairy tales out of his fingertips for ten minutes. Then he masturbates and talks to people on Twitter.”
Masturbate? Well, fine. Everybody’s got a lunch hour, and it doesn’t take me 60 minutes to eat a damn sandwich. Nothing wrong with exploring my own body with various textures and food products. As for Twitter? Hey, you go and mill around the water cooler like a bunch of thirsty water bison, and I go and mill around Twitter like a digital version of the same.
But I do not defecate fairy tales out of my fingertips. If only the act of writing was quite so simple as all that.
(And, by the way, leave my ponies out of it. They didn’t do anything to you.)
Point being, it’s time to take this big callused toe of mine and drag it across the sand. There, then, is the line. On this side is me, the penmonkey. On that side is you, the… I dunno. Pen-muggle. Shut up.
What I’m trying to say is, this is what it means to be a writer. Got people in your life who just don’t grok the trials and tribulations of the everyday word-chucker? Show them this.
I Swear On The Life Of Word Jesus, It’s Actually Work
This one sucks because you know what? I get it. I’ve tried explaining to people what I do, and at no point does it sound like work. “Uhh, well, I wake up at 6AM and I get my coffee and then I get in front of the computer and I… make stuff up… and then I try to convince people to buy the things I just… made up.” It sounds like the world’s biggest scam and explains why so many people want to be writers.
I might as well have said, “I sit out in a sunlit meadow and play Candyland with a bunch of puppies.”
Let’s just clear this one up right now:
Writing is work. It’s not back-breaking labor, no — though, by now I probably do have scoliosis (and a Deep-Vein Thrombosis whose clot-bullet will probably detonate in my brain) — but it is mind-breaking just the same. I can sit here for hours metaphorically head-butting the computer monitor until this story — or article, or blog-post, or sex-toy instruction manual — bleeds out across the screen. And then I have to keep fucking with it, keep hacking it apart and juicing my skull-meats until it all makes sense. Everything else is emails and spreadsheets and outlines and porn and shame and homelessness.
Am I doing work on par with fire fighters or soldiers? Fuuuuu-huuuu-huuuck no. But neither are you, Mister Cubicle Monkey. Or you, Target clerk. So. You know. Hush up.
All I’m saying is, no, I don’t need a “real job” because I already have one.
I Promise You, We’re Actually Accomplishing Something
Someone might ask, “Oh, what do you write?”
So, you tell them.
“Can I read it somewhere?”
You tell them, no, you can’t. It hasn’t sold yet. Or it’s in production. Or it’s headed toward publication. Or you have an agent but no publication. Or it’ll post to the web in three months. Or it’ll hit shelves in a year.
Or, or, or.
And then you get that look. The nod. The polite smile.
What they’re saying is:
“You go up into your room, you hide yourself away for hours every day, hunkering down over your computer until your spine crackles and your fingers buckle from carpal tunnel, and you stare at that screen and write word after word after word, and you have… nothing to show for it? Nothing at all?”
Well. Uhh. Sorta.
Just the same, it makes us want to kick you in the snack drawer.
The Two Reactions
I tell someone I’m a writer, I get one of the following two reactions. Ready? Here goes.
Number One: “Oh. A writer. Uh-huh. Well, that’s great.” They blink and offer a kind of dismissive or incredulous smile, as if I just told them I was a cowboy or a space marine. Occasionally there exists a follow-up question. “So, you write, like, what? Books?” And that word — books — is enunciated as if it’s a mythical creature, like they’re asking me if I spend all day tracking Bigfoot by his scat patterns. Another follow-up question is, “Like Stephen King?” (Or, insert some other famous writer — possibly the only writer this person has ever heard of.) Yes. Just like Stephen King. I write horror novels about Maine and sometimes stop to roll around in big piles of cash.
Subtext to this is: That’s precious. A writer! Adorable. So, what’s your real job, again? Some thick-headed dick-mops actually possess enough gall to ask that question. “Yeah, but what do you do for money?”
Number Two: “OH NO WAY A WRITER?” Their eyes light up. Their mouth slackens. They act like they’re encountering… I dunno, a celebrity, or someone who broke through the fence and now runs free with the other ponies. “It must be so great,” they might say, as if it’s really awesome not being sure where your money will come from next or how you’re going to pay for that appendectomy you’ve technically needed for the last four years.
That one has some follow-ups, too. First, again, “Oh, like Stephen King?”
Second is, “OMG I’M A WRITER TOO.” They almost never are. My neighbor hit me with that one when we lived at our last house. Regaling me of tales of her One Novel that she never actually finished because She Has To Wait For Just The Right Mood. “My kids always know when inspiration has struck because I have to pull over to the side of the road and get in the zone and just start writing.” Yeah, because that’s how it works. I pay my mortgage with one unfinished novel. Turns out, you can bank inspiration and collect interest. That’s how I’m going to pay for my appendectomy! With the sweet wampum of inspirado.
Do any other careers earn this reaction? “OMG I’M AN ACCOUNTANT TOO. I sit at home and budget out how much money I have for weed and Doritos. And when inspiration strikes, I balance my checkbook.”
“OMG I’M A CHEF TOO, I just microwaved a can of Beefaroni.”
“OMG I’M AN ASTRONAUT TOO I totally just climbed a tree and looked at the moon.”
Don’t get me wrong, I like the second reaction over the first, but both are dismissive and misinformed.
Know this, non-writers: no, we’re not special, but we’re also not big dough-brained children, either. Put us somewhere in the middle between “jobless trilobite” and “second coming of Stephen King.”
We Try Very Hard To Be Normal
When writers dwell in their element — usually meaning with other writers or other creative-types — you can sense it. The freak flag flies up the pole. The whiskey comes out. The inappropriate jokes fly.
We laugh. We cry. We commiserate.
But when we’re amongst the, ehhh, ahem, pen-muggles, sometimes it feels like walking on unsteady ground. Like we’re going to be found out. Like eventually they’re going to snap their fingers and say, “Ahh, right, right. You just sit around in your underwear and tell stories to yourself, don’t you? I get it now.” Because that’s the vibe you get from some people. From family, from acquaintances, from those nearby.
“A writer lives there,” they may say in hushed whisper.
I’ve had this with other neighbors. You meet them for the first time, they say, “Oh, I sell cars, what do you do?” And you tell them. And the inevitable question is, “Oh, what do you write?” And the answer is, well, uhh, I write about vampires and zombies and goblins and psychic girls and corn-punks and monkey sex and I have a blog where I curse a lot and I also write games and books and…
By that point, they’re probably pulling their children closer. Hugging them to their hip. Just in case I decide to go all vampire-zombie-goblin on them. Just in case I’m some kind of serial killer.
And I want to say I’m not, but it’d be a half-hearted denial. After all, in my mind and on the page I’m constantly thinking of ways to torment and eventually execute characters. Which leads to…
Weird Shit Goes Through Our Head In A Swiftly-Moving, Never-Stopping Stream
I am ever lost in the fog of my own imagination. I don’t mean to suggest that this is what it takes to be a writer — after all, that fog of imagination is about as tangible and real as a pegasus fart. Just the same, I remain lost there for six minutes out of every ten, the grinder constantly turning, the gear-teeth chewing my mind-meat into usable ground brain-beef.
I need you to know that, non-writer, so when you ask me a question — “Would you like fries with that? Do you want us to change your brake pads? Did you take out the trash? Did you realize that the house is presently on fire?” — it explains the unfocused gaze, the faint moving of the lips where no sound comes out, the chewing of the inner cheek. It’s not just me being an idiot. I’m merely thinking of how to properly execute an invasion of New York City from the Hollow Earth, or trying to imagine the best way for a character to escape an undying serial killer, or pondering what happens when true love turns to bitter rage on a distant Saturnian mining colony.
It’s why my response to your question is usually a mumbled, “Wuzza?”
This is why writers must try very hard to live strong external lives.
Otherwise, we’d turtle inward, living only the myriad lives inside our own heads.
Here, Then, Is Your Soapbox
Sound off, authorial types. Let’s say you’re talking to a non-writer. What do you want them to know about being you? About being a writer with all your crazy writer ways? Scream it so the cheap seats can hear.
* * *
Want another booze-soaked, profanity-laden shotgun blast of dubious writing advice?
Try: CONFESSIONS OF A FREELANCE PENMONKEY
$4.99 at Amazon (US), Amazon (UK), B&N, PDF
And: 250 THINGS YOU SHOULD KNOW ABOUT WRITING
$0.99 at Amazon (US), Amazon (UK), B&N, PDF
Jason L Blair says:
“Unlike a lot of writers you may have heard about, I am almost always sober and wearing pants.”
August 10, 2011 — 12:22 PM
Ali says:
Sweet fancy java. THANK YOU.
I’ve often gotten the, “So, have you published a novel yet?” question. Or the “Why don’t you have an agent?” question. As if those things can be procured at freakin’ Wal-Mart.
These questions always happen right after I’ve had a story rejected or something. Or I’m stuck on a plot point, and I’m convinced that a monkey with a typewriter could form more coherent sentences. Which means I’m already extra-snarky.
I have a friend who asks about my writing, sometimes. But it always ends up in the same place — with her, talking about how she wants to be a writer, but doesn’t have the time. Because you know, I manufacture time in my basement. Where I also keep the Inspiration Fairy chained up.
Which is another thing: getting asked about inspiration. Or “Why did write that?” The last one is usually accompanied by a disapproving look. Because the story has a few questionable elements. Surely, I could write about unicorns frolicking instead?
Sure, I’m a little out there, sometimes. I hear an ice cream truck drive by, playing what amounts to an unnameable but creepy song — and I think, “That’d be a really good beginning for a story.”
*breathes* Well, I feel better now. Because it’s good to talk about this stuff, instead of getting lost in a sea of “I don’t get it” looks. Good post. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need more coffee and to kick the crap out of my word count.
August 10, 2011 — 12:23 PM
Cassandra Neace says:
I’m such a wuss. I always admit to the paying job first and just slip in the writing thing after, when I don’t think they’ll notice.
“I teach writing at a college. Sometimes I do some of my own.”
“Really? Where do you teach?”
I’d rather answer that question than, “Oh, have you written anything that I would know?”
August 10, 2011 — 12:24 PM
Shauna Granger says:
This is a recounting of a conversation I had with the lady (stranger) that sat next to me at the final Harry Potter film.
Lady: “Oh, my husband has read all of the books – not me!” She laughs. “He keeps telling me to, but I dont really read.”
Me: “Well, the books are amazing, the movies do a good job, but if you’re such a big fan, you should try.”
Lady: “Maybe some day. So, do you like the Twilight movies?”
Me: “No, actually I think the Twilight movies are horrible. Some dialogue should only ever be read, not actually spoken out loud. One it’s said out loud you realize how lame and cheesy it is.”
Lady: “Oh, wow, so you’ve read the Twilight books too?”
Me: “Yes, before it became this creepy craze.”
Lady: “So you read, like, a lot?” (mind you these are the only two series we’ve talked about)
Me: “Yeah, my family is full of readers, I grew up reading and now I write.”
Lady: “Oh, my god! You write?! That is great! What do you write?”
Me: “Right now? Young adult, fantasy or paranormal if you like.”
Lady: “So, kinda like Twilight?”
Me: Eye twitch
Lady: “That is so good. We need more writers out there because there are just NO good books anymore! And that’s why there are no good movies anymore!”
People have told me the last Harry Potter was fantastic, I’m not sure if it was because at that moment my head exploded even as her husband was rolling his eyes behind her back.
August 10, 2011 — 1:05 PM
Betsy Dornbusch says:
I was recently trapped between a New Zealander and a Sicilian who both thought writing was ZoMG so freaking cool. They basically interviewed me at this bar where all I was really interested in was nursing my whiskey and writing (!) a story on my iPad. Maybe it’s how famous people fell, I dunno. The NZer was disappointed I wasn’t more enthusiastic about my job. I mean it is a cool job but that shit is hard, you know?
August 10, 2011 — 1:09 PM
terribleminds says:
I love all of these stories and reactions.
I should make clear that my wife is not among the, erm, Pen-Muggles. She is very supportive despite believing me certifiably insane.
— c.
August 10, 2011 — 1:12 PM
Nathan Meunier says:
Even nerdier – writing about video games for a living…or worse, video game CULTURE. Hoo Boy. People act like I’m either Jesus Christ Gamer God incarnate or a total leper-freak-wierdo. Good times.
But it does help writing for the more well-known print and web outlets. Most folks have at least seen Nintendo Power on the news stands, so I usually use that one as the ice breaker.
August 10, 2011 — 1:27 PM
Brenda says:
I’m not a full-fledged penmonkey yet. I’m more of an aspiring penmonkey. Apprentice penmonkey? Penlemur maybe? Anyway, my writing still needs work.
Right now to get my daily practice in, I’m writing what boils down to glorified fanfiction. It isn’t even real fanfiction because I only borrowed the setting and the world rules. My original characters started off as RPG characters/NPCs set in those settings. They are my little puppets that I make dance as I work out my issues with description, dialog, plot, and prose.
Since the stories are nothing more than practice and a way to amuse myself and my gaming group, sometimes motivation is hard to find. Oh look, the newest episode of Whiskey Shore is on! Must write. Hey, when did that bowl grow legs? Must… write. Oh, you want me to come out, get away from the house, and see the sun? But the sun is trying to kill me and I haven’t quite figured out how this character dies yet!
To Pen-Muggles, I would say STOP INTERRUPTING ME! Do I interrupt you practicing your sports; your cooking; your artsy-fartsy, dear god what is that thing, crafts; or your chronic masturbating? Well I didn’t mean to. Lock the damn door. Leave me alone and let me play wordsmith for a while! I can’t come out to play until I’ve reached my word count.
To Penmonkeys, don’t let the penmuggles get you down. A lot of professions get the shrug off. Oh, you’re a preschool teacher? So you just play with kids all day? Oh, you’re an accountant? So you just play with numbers all day? Oh, you’re a musician? It must be nice to just sit around and play music all day. Oh, you are a retail slave at a Toy Store? So you just play with toys all day? Oh, you’re a female small business owner in the area of automobile accessories? So, you just answer the phone? (And all of those are followed up by “Can you watch my kids for free?”, “Can you do my taxes for free?”, “Can you play at a party I’m having for free?”, and “Can you give me a discount?”)
No respect I tell ya. No respect!
August 10, 2011 — 1:27 PM
Ruth Ann Nordin says:
“Oh, you’re a writer. That’s great! I just love to read. What to you write?”
“Romance.”
“I love romance! Can I read one of your books?”
“Sure. Go to Amazon, Smashwords, B&N, etc”
“Oh well, I thought maybe you had a copy on hand that you could give me.”
“Give?”
“Yeah. I mean, it’s not like any work went into writing the book or anything. You sat down and typed out the novel in a couple days, maybe even a couple weeks. Then you published it the very next day. How hard can this hobby be?”
“Hmm…. Hobby, huh? When you go to your hobby, do you get paid?”
“I don’t understand what you mean?”
“Well, that place you spend your time at? You know, taking care of customers or relating to the person you call boss. Do you get a paycheck or do you do your few little hours there for free?”
“I don’t see what that has to do with anything?”
“No? Of course not. Because writers don’t need to eat, pay bills, live in a house, or have family to support. We exist in a little spot on the planet where we never need money for anything.”
(I really hate the cheap people of the world, as you can tell. Nothing says we don’t work more than a person who doesn’t value our work enough to pay for it.)
Great post, by the way. 😀
August 10, 2011 — 1:28 PM
Jason L Blair says:
@Chuck
Same here. My wife is incredibly supportive.
The best thing a spouse can do to support a writer is to provide space and understanding.
The best things a writer can do to support their spouse is to not be lazy and not be deluded.
August 10, 2011 — 1:34 PM
Josh says:
When you’re a writer, and I mean when you really have that deep-seeded need to be a storyteller, to pull hapless mortals into your world, to make characters dance, dammit… When you’re a writer, no other job satisfies.
You can try. You can show up early, stay late, go to lunch, go out for drinks, laugh, joke, flirt, buckle down and work with all sorts of people in all sorts of dayjobs… but at the end of the day, when you’ve got it bad, you’ve got it bad and there ain’t nothing for it but to right.
That’s been my experience, anyway.
August 10, 2011 — 1:36 PM
Josh says:
(There’s a slip, there. I meant there’s nothing for it but to write. Right? Right.
Not a Freudian slip. Gotta come up with something else.
Wendigian slip?)
August 10, 2011 — 1:37 PM
Greg Stolze says:
Shit Chuck, you think THAT’S bad, try telling people you’re a stay-at-home dad.
-G.
That rhymed Chuck. And you KNOW that rhymed.
August 10, 2011 — 1:50 PM
Shiloh Walker says:
This. Was. Awesome.
I used to work in pediatric nursing before I quit to write full-time. I keep the license up and still go in from time to time-it’s nice to talk to real people, instead of the imaginary ones. And every once in a while, I’ll get these questions…
“are you still working on your book?” There’s never just one…but yes, I’m still working. haven’t won the lotto yet, soooo….
“so, do you still write? you write…kids’ books, right?” Um. No. I’m a romance writer. Then I see THAT look in their eyes. I’m in my scrubs, doing a very mundane job and you can almost see that jittery vibe…it’s…well. Writers know that look-yes, I write about romance so naturally that means I’m sex-starved or a sex fiend, right? better not mention the romantic suspense books… then I’m really in trouble. I’ll be a sex-starved, sex-fiend serial killer.
August 10, 2011 — 1:50 PM
Sascha Illyvich says:
You know what I want them to know? I want them to know that I bleed for my work. Yeah I write hot, steamy sexy romances but I bleed. Internally I agonize over every word, sentence, character, plot and title I put out. That’s my fucking name on a page with a price tag that says Buy me.
So I sit in a chair all day long and yes I’m probably on twitter, promoting. Or helping other authors. Who need to bleed, not vomit or other obnoxious bodily functions as the stories come from the HEART. So excuse me if I get a little violent occasionally and threaten to rip your head off in a story and dance it around a fire as a sacrifice. Because I’m busy writing something that makes others feel emotions I can’t. Or won’t allow myself.
Oh and did I mention I write people I know into my books? Usually the murder scenes…
August 10, 2011 — 1:52 PM
Ray A. says:
I know the feeling. That’s why, until I have something published, I’m just gonna keep telling people I’m a stay-at-home Dad. It’s what Frederick Buechner would call “a version of the truth.”
August 10, 2011 — 1:53 PM
P. Kirby says:
When asked what I do for a living, I give them a double-barreled response: “I’m a writer and an artist.”
To which the person blinks stupidly and says, “Oh, what do you write?”
“Steampunk, urban fantasy and paranormal romance.”
Which gets me the blank stare that means they have no idea what “steampunk” is and “fantasy” and” romance” means “geeky sex fiend.” So they move on to my other career. “So what kind of art do you do?”
“Metal art. I work primarily in steel. It’s a great media. I get to work with awesome tools like a plasma torch. And a welder.”
Person looks at me like I’ve grown Hellboy-style horns. “Oh, uh…my sister paints. Oils.”
“That’s nice,” I say, knowing the conversation is only going to get more awkward. Need an out. “What’s that noise? Oh, crap. Gotta go. My cat’s on fire, again.”
August 10, 2011 — 2:40 PM
Delia says:
What Jamie Wyman said. Because taking care of four kids and writing a novel while editing another novel = doing nothing all day.
My favorite conversation:
Brother-in-law: She could totally take you at Scrabble.
Inebriated Party Guest: Nuh-uh. I’m great at Scrabble
BIL: Yeah, but she’s a writer.
Followed by twenty minutes of IPG trying to comprehend how anyone could write a novel that she couldn’t immediately go buy at the nearest B&N. Because don’t they just appear there when you type The End?
My favorite question:
Pen-Muggle: So, who are you going to get to publish your book?
As if I only need to choose and all manner of literary good will and fortune shall be showered upon me.
Count me among those with supportive spouses. (He still looks at me funny when I talk to myself, though.)
August 10, 2011 — 2:49 PM
Susan S says:
@Marlan – I feel your pain. My husband used to be a video game tester and got moved temporarily from his usual area (first person shooters) to a Barbie product some years back. It was funny to me for all of five seconds until I saw the “shoot me now” look in his eyes. Even the shooters were work. Testing Barbie, however, was like a personal assistant suddenly learning that instead of answering the phones for a living (s)he shall now be responsible for cleaning the boss’ toilet. Yay for that.
Generally speaking though – the thing I’d like to tell non-writers is that YES IT CAN TAKE YEARS TO FIND AN AGENT AND NO THAT DOESN’T MEAN MY WRITING STINKS. When people learn that you’re working on a second manuscript (or in my case, a third) and that you realize the early one was a learning experience but this one you’ll be taking to agents seeking representation, they look at you the same way they look at a three-legged dog with no teeth. “What a pity. We should really put it out of its misery.”
I’ll be in the corner…butt in the chair…proving them wrong.
August 10, 2011 — 3:23 PM
Joe Pienso says:
Great post. Excellent rant. One thought- it might be good to scare people. Remind them that it is unwise to screw a writer over. We live to get the last word, hahaha. Also, you can carry a manuscript around. non-readers may impressed by the sheer weight of the thing. Works for me. People tend to be quicker to pay you or fawn over you that way. Don’t worry. The last thing anyone (even your own family) will want to do is to actually read it.
August 10, 2011 — 3:37 PM
Kat says:
“Do any other careers earn this reaction? “OMG I’M AN ACCOUNTANT TOO. I sit at home and budget out how much money I have for weed and Doritos. And when inspiration strikes, I balance my checkbook.””
YES. Why do people have to pretend they want to be writers, when the only thing they wrote was two pages of a novel five years ago? There’s no shame in not being nor wanting to be a writer. There are plenty of professions that I admire but have no desire to be a part of myself.
What (some) non-writers (or want-to-be-writers) fail to understand is that writing is verrrry time-consuming. It eats up your time. All of it. Especially if you have kids/a day job/both. People start thinking you’re an asshole because you can’t keep your house clean & you turn down multiple social engagements. Even if you accept an offer to a social engagement, you have difficulty engaging in conversation about regular things. You can’t discuss “Breaking Bad” because you spend your evenings writing, not watching TV (or cleaning). You don’t even know what “Breaking Bad” is until it comes up in conversation & you ask, “What is Breaking Bad?” and the record scratches & everyone present turns to stare at you.
The misconception that writing is easy and quick work, I think, stems from the fact that most people have written SOMETHING at one point or another, whether it was a status update or a thank-you letter or a shitty essay you dashed off at the last minute for your high school comp class, and all of these are easy if you make them easy. Bad writing is quite easy, so people get the idea that ALL writing is easy. That shitty essay, after all, earned you a B+ (not because it was above-average but because all the other essays were god-awful.) But GOOD writing? Writing that people actually want to read (and, maybe, even pay you for)? THAT is painstaking, and it takes a helluva lot longer to polish than that shitty B+ essay.
August 10, 2011 — 3:41 PM
Christina says:
When I was in school to become a psychologist, my friends and family were suspicious of me because they thought that I was constantly watching them and psychoanalyzing them. Now that I’m a writer, they’re suspicious of me because they think that I’m constantly watching them so that I can use things that they do and say in future books.
I sort of want to be offended, but… I do both of those things. All the time. But I’m not creepy, I swear!
*clutches coffee mug and hides behind laptop*
August 10, 2011 — 3:51 PM
Andrew Jack says:
You get this whenever you do something a little out of the norm: I was a nightclub bouncer for awhile and what I was constantly asked was: “So you beat people up for a living?”
No, but I was often tempted to indulge in a little after hours face punching, mostly when people asked me that….
Same with writing, because they haven’t done what you do other people have no idea what you go through to get it done. They don’t know about the anxiety (must write, or bear will eat me), the anger (dear brain, don’t make me come in there) or the sheer hard work that goes into even one page of something good.
Most people aren’t as stupid as they seem (don’t get me wrong some people are even worse than they first appear – but they’re rarer than you think) it’s just that they don’t get what it’s like to hang on to your dream even if it’s really, really hard. Because they didn’t.
So, next time you’re confronted with one of these guys/girls/other just tell them what you typically go through to get even a chapter done. You’d be surprised how many people will actually understand if you take the time to explain it to them.
Of course if it doesn’t work there’s always face punching to fall back on, use the heel of your hand so you don’t break your knuckles on their thick, thick skulls.
August 10, 2011 — 5:10 PM
Jami Gold says:
Don’t take this the wrong way, Chuck, but I find it a tad scary that you *get* me more than my own parents. 🙂
August 10, 2011 — 5:11 PM
terribleminds says:
@Jami
I AM YOUR FATHER
…
Okay, probably not.
— c.
August 10, 2011 — 5:12 PM
Laura W. says:
THANk YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU. I was wondering if I was alone, lol. Certainly my family thinks I need a “real job.” I do some freelance writing online and no matter how many times I explain it to them, they just can’t seem to grasp the fucking concept. Hence my surprise when we visited my extended family in rural Mississippi, who are all apparently closet sci-fi/fantasy fans. They were all, “You write? COOL! Email me your articles! Let me know when you publish a book or something!!”
Me: Supportive family? Hell to the WHAT?
My mother asks me this question every once in a while: “So when are you going to finish the book and pay for my retirement?” She’s joking. I think. I hope…
Other HUGE pet peeve that I hate: People who are not writers *cough*MY DAD*cough* trying to give you “advice.” Like, “have you ever considered getting an agent?” (Yes; I am staking out their house so I can abduct them when I finish my MS.) “What about doing your own website?” (Way ahead of you there…AND it has ADS. Which I have earned NO money on, before you ask.) “What about building a social network?” (Do you even know what a ‘social network’ is, Man Without A Facebook?)
And the killer: “What about getting a fucking JOB?” (But the recession!!!)
August 10, 2011 — 5:41 PM
Courtney Cantrell says:
Chuck, thanks for this. You had me laughing and nodding my head in agreement from start to finish.
Sounding off, eh? What do I want them to know? I want them to know that THIS
August 10, 2011 — 6:38 PM
Courtney Cantrell says:
First, I want them to know that the above was me finding the “enter” key way too blasted soon. *sigh*
Second, I want them to know that THIS WRITING “THING” IS NOT A PHASE. It is not going to Go Away Once Courtney Has Babies. I applaud writers who have babies. I hope someday to be a writer who has babies. BUT just because I have babies does NOT mean I am going to quit writing.
I wish people could get that through their skulls. Oh, and I’d also like them to know that telling me “I’m gonna read your book!” is not anywhere near the same thing as “I’ve read your book.” Don’t get my hopes up. Either read the darn thing or tell me flat out you ain’t gonna. Don’t string me along.
That is all. Thanks for the sounding-off opportunity, Chuck. : )
August 10, 2011 — 6:42 PM
contagonist says:
Menial/manual labor leave my thoughts free to wander the labyrinth of my mind. My inner self becomes a bored child rooting about in my skullspace for christmas presents, only to uncover the psychological equivalent of parental sex toys, firearms, coke caches, and worse.
I pull out my psychic razor and slice open the duct tape keeping closed an ephemeral box labeled ‘do not open ever you prick.’ Hands reach in and pull out all the reasons why the human race should be euthanized.
Very compelling reasons; ones that make me wish to materialize that psychic razor and make the red flow.
This is why I can NOT have a normal job. A normal job bisects myself into the part that does what I should do, and the part that does whatever I damn well please. With the former distracted by that normal job, the latter wanders and drifts until it latches onto my omnicidal instinct.
Sigmund Freud postulated the Thanatos complex: a personality component that was focused solely on destruction and mayhem. While he has long ago been dismissed as a hack, I can’t help but think that he of all people figured out why I want to snap the neck of every infant I see, and why I can only think of that as a good deed.
Hence why I want to turn to writing. Writing keeps those two parts of me integrated and focused on a single task. Writing allows me to spill all the blood and break all the bones that I would ever want to.
August 10, 2011 — 6:46 PM
Stringer says:
The thing I seem to get most regularly is advice. They want to give me advice. They want to out their arm around me and tell me about ebooks, and how the industry is going to work, and what the future of the business holds, and how best to make money.
And I tell them, “huh, that’s really cool. You know, i should get you to talk to my agent. And all my colleagues in the writing community. And a couple of publishers that i’m on good terms with. And some booksellers. Because all of us think the industry is a bit of a crap shoot that’s never moved past the wild west, but you clearly know how it works.”
Okay, i act like a dick to them.
I’m not the nice polite guy when it comes to these things, if I’m honest. If someone is saying something dumb about writing, I let them know it.
Last year i got dragged over hot coals by my boss at the day job, “This writing thing of yours,” he said, “is it serious?”
I asked, “what do you mean?”
He went on, “well you know, i mean, is it s higher priority for you than working here?”
“Well, i wouldn’t say it’s an issue of priorities. I work here 49-50 hours a week, then i go home and write.”
“Sure, but what i mean, is i’d love to play for Glasgow Rangers, but it’s not going to happen, is it?”
“Really? Do you go home and spent four or five hours a night training to play for them? Do you contact them? Do you have an agent? Do you spend your days off researching and working on your skills?”
We never spoke of it again after that.
Plus i get lost of dumb things. I’m the office cross word monkey, people will come to me when they;re stuck on one and say, “hey you’re a writer. whats the ancient sumerian word for a staple gun, 6 letters, starts with a k.”
Or, “How can you be dyslexic AND be a writer?”
Or, “You’re a writer? Cool. Did you read that last Dan Brown? What did you think?”
I’m also very much not patient with the, “i’m a writer too” people. I’ll ask them straight off what they write. And when they start talking about distractions, or day jobs, or no spare time, or inspiration, i’ll say that writers write. Or i’ll walk away if it’s a party.
So, yeah, i’m a dick.
August 10, 2011 — 6:53 PM
Kinley Baker says:
I laughed out loud several times reading this. I am a chronic non sentence finisher and have perfected the wide-eyed I-have-no-idea-what-you’re-talking-about look. It’s not that whatever the person is saying isn’t important but even my own sentences aren’t worth finishing when I’m trying to save the Realm. Murderers need slaying and magic needs making, but whatever you’re saying about whatever is really important, too. I’m sure your realm is collapsing around you.
Agreed about the external reality importance. If I didn’t have my husband’s no nonsense outlook to battle my writer insanity, I would have bought a bunker instead of a house, because the aliens are coming. *peers around suspiciously* It’s possible. Just wait.
August 10, 2011 — 7:15 PM
Susan says:
Me: I write.
Them: Like books? I hate to read. Plus I don’t have time to read. I’m sooooo busy.
Me: That’s what I say about exercising. No time for it.
Them: You should really really find the time. I’m just saying.
August 10, 2011 — 7:26 PM
Angela says:
I must have been blessed at birth or something. On our last vacation my family and I spent almost an hour thinking up inventive ways to kill someone. I have the list on my computer and refer to it often. Have to say, my brother is an evil genius.
August 10, 2011 — 8:21 PM
ED Martin says:
I have a day job (teacher of disadvantaged children, which gets enough looks and rude comments by itself), and for me writing is just something I do in my spare time. Whenever people ask me about hobbies, I mention that I write.
Them: Have you published anything?
Me: Yeah, a few short stories.
Them: How much have you made?
Me: Nothing yet.
Them, laughing: Why waste your time writing?
What I want to say: Your hobby is sitting on your ass watching TV. Have you made any money off that?
What I actually say: I like writing.
They give me a pitying look and walk away to talk to someone else about American Idol.
August 10, 2011 — 9:13 PM
Nina Berry says:
My favorite (note: sarcasm) is definitely the “Oh, I’ve always wanted to write a book! I’ve got a great idea!” Followed by a lengthy explanation of the idea.
Sorry, but an idea is not a book. Getting an idea isn’t writing. The idea is the easy part. It’s the writing that’s hard.
I’ve had bozos say things like, ‘I’ll give you my idea and you can write it and we’ll split the profits.” So, uh, you want me to do all the work and then split these fictional profits with you? That’s like you buying some groceries and expecting a top chef to split the profits of his restaurant with you.
August 10, 2011 — 9:35 PM
James says:
My conversations with pen-muggles?
Them: “What’s it like, writing all the time?”
Me: “Pure angst and anxiety. I don’t know if the word I’m writing this very second sucks, or maybe the next one sucks. Do they all suck together? How should I know? And if I think about it too much, they definitely suck. If I don’t, there’s a blissful moment where I think it doesn’t suck, and then reality comes crashing down. But no matter what I do, I can’t stop.”
Them: “What?”
Me: “… I mean, it’s just like being Stephen King.”
Though I don’t know what kind of writing you’re doing, Chuck. I still have time for Candyland and puppies between eating and masturbating.
August 10, 2011 — 9:37 PM
Jenz says:
This is just the same thing that happens to every single profession. No one understands me! [insert appropriate angst here]
Must say, I do love the term pen-muggles. 😉
And either get your own blog or learn to freaking edit, people. I shouldn’t have to scroll past one screen to read your damn comment. Sure, your writing is great, but, sheesh.
August 10, 2011 — 9:45 PM
Sparky says:
Some time ago I was discussing, no joke, internet piracy with a guy at school. He theorized it was okay because really how much will it hurt you to have a few things pirated if you already made millions. I brought up authors as a counter example and this devolved into me needing to give a detailed explanation of why most writers aren’t Stephen King and are not in fact millionaires. I had to explain that the average book advance was not in the hundreds of thousands.
Unrelated: Chuck you are a brony?
August 10, 2011 — 10:08 PM
Ali says:
@Christina, that makes you my hero. All of that? Totally viable material/inspiration.
August 10, 2011 — 10:14 PM
Kevin Veale says:
The fortunate thing of being involved in academia is that you’re shielded from some of this. When everyone working somewhere *knows* that all their coworkers are mumbling monomaniacs who are utterly fixated on drilling down with their headmeats into the Lacanian psychoanalysis of Something, and are in fact employed on their basis of doing so, that the idea that someone Makes Shit Up that they don’t have to provide citations for afterwards doesn’t come as a huge surprise.
(I include myself on the monomaniacs list)
August 10, 2011 — 11:39 PM
J.M. Dow says:
Bah. I get it from both sides. I’ve got friends and family who give me these blank looks of “oh, heh, a writer, eh? What a nice hobby.” I’ve also got writer friends who scoff at me and give me the “you’re not a REAL writer” look. Like, because I chose to have a day job to support my wife through college and because we became accustomed to things like not getting rained on and eating food not from a dumpster, I’m somehow less passionate about my work.
Honestly, it’s the latter that hurts more. To be dismissed by peers when we should be supporting each other. It’s just lame.
August 10, 2011 — 11:51 PM
Alan Baxter says:
Awesome. Simply awesome. Well done, Chuck.
August 11, 2011 — 4:12 AM
Joanna Penn says:
Great post and something we can all relate to. My experiences in England – a print centric book environment ….
“Can I get your book in Waterstones?”
“No, but you can buy it on Amazon in print and ebook format”
“oh, so it’s not a book I can buy in a bookstore.. it’s not a real book then”
…..
“I’m a writer”
“That’s great – what are the titles of your books? Will I have heard of them?”
“Uh, no, probably not
“So your books aren’t on the display tables in Borders then”
“No”
“Right… ” wanders off, unimpressed.
***
“I’m a writer”
“That’s great – who’s your publisher? Have you won any prizes? Which literary fiction magazines have you published in? You write thrillers – isn’t that a little mainstream? ” **insert more literary fiction snobbery here***
Thanks, Joanna
August 11, 2011 — 5:45 AM
Anthony says:
I like to sit on my front porch while I write – I read somewhere that fresh air was good for you.
When I first relocated from L.A. back to my hometown, this was my first meeting from the neighbor across the street.
Neighbor: Morning, you know your lawn is looking a little shaggy.
Me: Morning. Yes it is.
Neighbor: Well?
Me: What.
Neighbor: What are you going to do about it?
Me: I’m sorry. Can you come back later I’m working.
Neighbor: Don’t look like it to me. What do you do?
Me: I’m a screenwriter.
Neighbor: I’m just sayin’ you need to cut your grass. Ya ain’t got to be a smartass about it.
(Walks away angry)
So now when anyone asks what I do I tell them “ I design aftermarket trailer hitches for pickups and SUV’s”.
“Cool, I need to get me one of those”.
August 11, 2011 — 10:57 AM
Casz Brewster says:
I was initiated into the jeers, stares and mockery of pen-muggles at an early age.
At 13 I told my mother I wanted to be a writer; she said I better take typing so I would have something to fall back on because hooker’s on 8 Mile made more money than writers.
I took typing. Word Processing hit. My first article was published in the school paper at 14. Twenty-five years later, I left the land of expository writing and am doing my own thing.
The hookers on 8 Mile Road still make more money than me. But, I bet the hookers don’t get, “Aw, that typing class really helped you out, eh?”
August 11, 2011 — 11:20 AM
Lara says:
@Kat “People start thinking you’re an asshole because you can’t keep your house clean & you turn down multiple social engagements. Even if you accept an offer to a social engagement, you have difficulty engaging in conversation about regular things.”
Oh, sweet zombie Jesus, yes. When I am on a writing binge, the house is a disaster, laundry is undone, there’s no food in the house except the kind you can nuke in five minutes, and friends are neglected. I’m not really a social person to begin with, but if I’m having a lot of luck banging out words, I’m going to focus on that. Everything else can wait. (Luckily I have no one around except my cats to judge the state of my apartment.)
My closest friends understand all of this (and the reason for it) and are very patient and tolerant about my frequent complete disappearance. They know I’ll resurface eventually. The friends who aren’t quite as close tend to have a difficult time understanding or respecting it.
The worst is when they give you the “OH EM GEEyou haven’t gone out in three weeks?” and get all concerned about your well-being, as if I
August 11, 2011 — 11:57 AM
Lara says:
(oops browser fail, let’s finish that thought) . . . as if I am going to shrivel into a raisin/become a vampire/kill myself if I don’t go to a bar and have a cocktail with them IMMEDIATELY.
August 11, 2011 — 12:00 PM