The short answer, of course, is anyone who writes, right? Well, yeah, sort of. But, see, there are writers, and then there are writers. And there is a real difference between someone who's writing for fun or for job or school, or as a hobby, and someone who spends countless hours toiling over a writing pad or a computer keyboard, churning out page after page of text that may never be read by anyone but close friends and family, if that. For most true writers, writing is a compulsion that is as real and as demanding as the pulsing need that sends the gambler fishing deep into his pockets for that last crumpled five dollar bill. It is a labor of love, yes, but it is also a necessity, like - and I mean this in the best possible way - lancing an infected wound to release the poison. Deny that need and the voices in our heads build up and start howling for attention, like the wail of ghosts in a haunted house. Give in to the need, and the voices fade into quiescence, our souls are at peace, the world is a happy place, full of joy and wonder.
Writers at this point are probably nodding in perfect understanding. For the rest of you? This probably makes as little sense to you as the fact that there is something so wholly satisfying and fulfilling and natural about this that most of us wouldn't change it if we could. Sorry. Just accept it and move on.
So, then, the question becomes: What makes a writer? What is it in a writer's makeup that predisposes us to engage in a process that can be, at once the most maddening, most satisfying thing in the world? Genetic quirk? A filter through which our subconscious most naturally makes sense of the world around us and our experiences in it? A response to something that was planted deeply within us by God/the universe/our own souls? I dunno? Greater minds than mine may be able to tell you. I certainly can't. But I know what it looks like. Here are a few of the symptoms:
So, then, the question becomes: What makes a writer? What is it in a writer's makeup that predisposes us to engage in a process that can be, at once the most maddening, most satisfying thing in the world? Genetic quirk? A filter through which our subconscious most naturally makes sense of the world around us and our experiences in it? A response to something that was planted deeply within us by God/the universe/our own souls? I dunno? Greater minds than mine may be able to tell you. I certainly can't. But I know what it looks like. Here are a few of the symptoms:
You proofread notes to yourself on a sticky note, and are disappointed that it lacked punch. You have a daydream or fantasy, and get sidetracked by how you would write that scene. Your first reaction to finding out that an appointment has been cancelled is: Holy crap, two more hours to write! An hour spent writing and rewriting a sentence, only to discard it for a better one, leaves you with a happy glow because, dammit, that is a great sentence!
If any of these "symptoms" resonate with you, congratulations...you're a writer. Now that we've got that settled, I think we should talk about why you want to write about ghosts and vampires and walls that bleed, when you could write just about anything else. Lay back on the couch, get comfortable, search your mind. We're going to get to the bottom of this, I guarantee it. Now, tell me just what the hell is wrong with you
RSS Feed
