In Empathy With Those Who Support Writers
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to be incredibly hard to be the spouse/child/friend of a writer. Seriously.
last two days, I've edited 100 pages, and I don't mean paperback book
sized pages, but 8 1/2 X 11 typed, single-spaced pages, and now I'm
trying to remember my family's names while my characters are still swimming
around up there telling me what they like and don't like with what I've
done with them and what I may still have to fix.
was supposed to go out today. I'm not sure I can. Showering would be
good. Sleeping would be an option. Going out ... with more snow and
possibly freezing rain and tired eyes ... maybe not.
a birthday card still sitting here for a friend who should have had
it two days ago. My taxes are waiting for me to print and go through
before sending them in. I have to go get passports. My kids ... I think
are still floating around me at times, waiting out the obsessive storm.
Oh, and I have to check work mail and print certificates! Oops.
why would anyone choose to try to be friends with a writer (other than
other writers who understand, of course)? We are so self-obsessed, well,
character obsessed. We have so many people in our heads that sometimes
trying to send one email to a live human being seems an incredibly huge
task. We may remember birthdays and other important dates, but we may
not remember to pull into the real world long enough to do anything
about it. If we've done it in our heads, we forget our loved ones didn't
actually get the card we know we have or the phone call we thought about
and considered the thought as counting (although we know it doesn't).
tell you 100 facts about what's happening in our current stories or
in a future story we have planned, but don't ask what's going on in
our lives because we may not know.
Our homes may be unorganized and have signs of plots and notes and reference
books and such all over everywhere, but inside our heads we see nothing
but the neat stream of the story.
nothing but a tool to keep moving, to keep working. Hot dogs or filet
mignon ... as long as it keeps us sitting upright, it's all the same.
then, we manage to pull our heads out and act like real people, long
enough to feel incredibly guilty about our seeming lack of concern for
those around us and try not to lose the two friends we have left, but
then it leads to story fodder in some way ... and off we go again.
just had an idea I have to capture before...
With Much Appreciation
to all those supporting me and writers everywhere,