I love writers. That might sounds a little self-serving but it’s true. I feel inspired and energized when I spend time with other writers, but also comforted somehow. I try to describe these interactions to my husband and he just shakes his head. “I’m glad you found your people,” he says. He’s teasing me but he’s right. And what an odd lot we are.
The things that make us laugh are decidedly off center; a writer’s sense of humor is a bit morbid and far too reliant on wordplay for the general public. Writers live for literary references, it’s almost sad how much it pleases us. We are easily pleased in general, because we don't get excited about things as much as what that thing represents. Every gift we give is symbolic somehow of the occasion or the recipient. But it’s not all thoughtful gifts and nerdy puns. Writers scrutinize and spew trivia, behaviors which generally translates as “obnoxious” to others. Unfortunately for our loved ones, our sense of what is appropriate is often compromised by our love of language. A writer’s enthusiasm for the savage beauty of the truth or the unnoticed hilarity in tragic events generally usurps the quiet voice urging us to hold our tongues. We tend to be equal parts haughty ego and red-faced self-deprecation which is an exhausting combination for someone attempting to pay us a compliment. We’re neurotic and awkwardly passionate about seemingly random things. Our outbursts are unexpected (and maybe nonsensical) but - embarrassingly - always whole-hearted.
Of course, there is the darker side. Our romantic entanglements often make no sense. At times, it’s almost like we have to follow any storyline to it’s conclusion, even if it’s clearly a tragedy. Writers are nearly incapable of being just plain happy or sad or anything so straightforward. Every emotion is nuanced, layered or tainted in some way, weighed against what we've experienced and our expectations as scene-setters. The ability to describe these complexities is the writer's gift, but it often feels more like an obsession. Sometimes you just want to turn it off and enjoy something, perfect or not. That’s where we go wrong; we can’t escape our brains and our attempts to do so can only be self-destructive. But, on the whole, I love writers. Even with all of our quirks and insecurities.
Have you noticed other traits common to writers? What has been your experience?
