Tuesday, September 20, 2011

The Eccentric Writer and her Eccentric Friends...


Writers and artists are certainly a rare breed, to say the least. Having a conversation with another writer a few days ago really opened my eyes to the reality of writing and artwork.

For one thing, we pour our souls into our projects, be it a manuscript that refuses to cooperate, an oil painting that just isn't jiving, or a poem that sounded good in your head but turns into a steaming pile of camel dung on paper. If it's in our hearts, it comes out in our work, no ifs ands or buts about it.

Eccentric and sometimes a little hair-brained, writers and artists alike are kindred spirits, or so I'd like to think. My proof? Well, I'm a 26 year old mother of four, body modification enthusiast, and I love to cook. A writer friend of mine from across the globe is mid-fifties-ish, has no children, enjoys long walks on the beach, and likes to whistle show tunes. What we have in common is our love for the written and spoken word, our love for Vincent Van Gogh (particularly Starry Night). The ties we form with others in our trade are strong ones, the strongest I've ever seen in my entire life. Though my friend may not understand how it feels to have to wake up in the middle of the night with a newborn, and I may not understand what it's like to deal with hypertension and diabetes, we bond over our WIP's and share tips and tidbits of the publishing industry.

It saddens me, however, that friends I've had since High School (not all, but some) have abandoned me. The minute I decided to write a book, they deserted, tucked tail and ran quicker than a wolf after its prey. Nonetheless, I love my writer friends, and I love the fact that they're always willing to help you when you're in a jam. Like a mother who feeds her child homemade chicken soup when she's sick, these friends are there with helpful advice and links to sites with helpful advice. They cheer me on when I need it the most, and when something great happens, they share my joys.

It's also pretty safe to say that most writers and artists are bat shit crazy. It's a truth that we've all come to terms with and I think that most would agree. The ones who do not agree are probably in denial because let's face it--writers make up imaginary people, set them in imaginary worlds, give them imaginary problems, imaginary loves, imaginary jobs, and imaginary strengths and weaknesses in their imaginary personalities. We talk to ourselves. No, our characters talk to each other in our heads. If that isn't crazy, I sure don't know what is! At least we make something of our insanity, even if we never make it very far.


So, that being said, thank you to all of my writer friends, both new and old, for everything that you've said and done. I'm eternally grateful.

For everyone else, who may or may not understand, thanks for listening anyhow. It's the thought that counts.

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