Friday, 9 November 2012

10 Reasons Why... it's awesome being a writer.

We can do anything we want. 

Yeah, okay, not literally, but in our world we can. What's your hobby? Stamp collecting. Awesome. Me? I control a apocalyptic army of small furry animals. Yeah, they treat me like a god, do as I command. Pretty much taking over the world.

We are many, for I am legion.

Writers know writers. They say that writing is a lonely task. We are pictured hunched over a desk, quill in hand, a bead of sweat rolling slowly down, ready to commit itself to the fall onto the manuscript. Yeah. No. I go down the local ale house on occasion (Me? A drunk?) and I've been known to sit between a novelist and a poet. Both successful, both quite charming people. We share stories. Then a drunken Irishman might come over, and we will regale him with tales of international bravery and espionage, only because he knows no better and we can wing it. But the thing is, we gather. We gather in groups. If you're not a writer, better watch over your shoulder. Next time you think it's a stag party reeling drunk down down the street, it might just be some of us. And we're more dangerous.  

We've got something to think about.

I've seen non-writers (Non-ites?) sitting at the bus stop. They stare vacant into space. You can (if you are a writer) picture what they might be thinking about. Last night's tortilla flavoring? Tomorrow night's soap opera? The X-Factor (shudder)? I've seen the writers sitting at the bus stop. They're the ones either a) writing on a pad with a pencil/crayon (we take anything we can get - I've even made notes in blood) or b) giggling. Giggling like they're on a PCP high. But not.

We're more likely to survive the zombie apocalypse.

Yeah? You're gonna survive because of something you saw in a movie? I wrote a detailed piece, something close to a dissertation, on killing zombies using only a 'mint-in-box' William Riker plushie. Without damaging it. Stand behind me. I got this. 

At some point, somewhere, we get paid to make shit up.

And not have to justify it under oath later. Think about it.

Our art will out live us.

That's right. We are immortal. Occasionally there will be competitions in which gangs of us try to cut each others heads off, just to prove that there can be only one, but our work lives on. We will be remembered as the few, by the many. (And we can be used to stable a wobbly table).

The object of your heart-bound desire immediately thinks you're deep.

Well, unless you only write horror. Then replace 'deep' for 'cool' or worst case scenario 'creepy'. But either way, announce you're a writer and people are suddenly interested. You are suddenly interesting. 'Have you been published?' they'll say. 'Get away from me, I don't know you!' you'll say.

You can hide in the under-belly (undergrowth?).

Everyone knows who everyone is these days. Try not getting tagged in some damned photo on Facebook. Try being in a film. Try being on To Catch a Predator. Everyone knows who everyone is, and, everyone know what everyone looks like. Unless you're an author. If you don't want to be seen. Found. Stephen King has a net worth greater than some of the most famous faces in Hollywood. Which one can buy a milkshake?

Someone, somewhere, likes what we do.

Unlike so many other forms of entertainment, if you want to create a literary work of art, someone will want to read it - no - someone will want to know why it wasn't written before because it is un-be-freakin-lievably good. Even small furry animal army violence. Yeah. Even that.

Just because.

Why is writing awesome? As mom used to say: Because. One day I'm slicing and dicing a vampire army with a sword crafted from the toe-nail clippings of a god, the next I own a small shop that moves about magically at night to where the market is best tomorrow. I sit at my desk crafting worlds and beings, people people want to meet, and people people want to be. 
I can fly like Superman. 
I have the strength of Hercules.
I have the mind of Einstein.

I am a writer.

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