Writing is simply my favorite thing! I spend so much of my life thinking about other people--analyzing them, learning about them, worrying about them--and wondering what they think of me. Writing is my time to think about what I think about. I feel at peace at my keyboard. I feel heard, by myself.
On runs, as I drive, in the grocery store check-out I can escape into distant plot problems or fresh characters. As long as I'm writing, I have a place to put all my angst and extremism and delight. As long as I am writing, I enjoy my day. In some ways, my love for writing is what's gotten me as far as I am. I fret about my stability constantly, but at least I love what I'm risking it all for. I've gotten my heart broken so many times when projects fall apart or I can't generate interest. But at least I had a good time at the time. On the other hand, if I didn't love the actual act of writing so much, I wouldn't be so annoyed with all the other aspects of the biz.
I've only recently realized some (most?) writers write as a means to be with friends?! No shade to this artistic path! There's nothing wrong with prioritizing connection and fun. Last week, a comedian I simply adore asked me if I wanted to co-write a pilot together. I said no, easily and quickly because I don't see a future for the project. I smell these situations a mile away now. "Wouldn't it be fun to write XYZ together?" No, it wouldn't be fun. Unfortunately I take everything too seriously for it to be fun. We'll have a meeting or two, and I will want to make something excellent, and you will probably lose interest because even the best idea ever is actually quite painstaking to flesh out and then trying to sell whatever it is is an even more obnoxious undertaking. And it will be way more than you bargained for, and you will dip, and I will be mad at you for wasting my time.
I spent four hours in the back of a cafe this morning. I didn't even know it'd been four hours with my oat cappuccino and marzipan croissant. Wasn't I just happy as a clam writing my new movie and yapping with my manager about my two pitches next week. There's a collection of friends I "owe" coffee to. People who want to sit near each other and write. But when you sit near each other and write, the first hour is gabbing and the second hour is sort of distracted work.
An ex-friend wanted to meet up and write all the time. I obliged, but quickly realized she never got anything done. My presence merely gave her peace of mind, like she clocked some hours. Like commiserating counts. But it doesn't count! And even if it did, I don't commiserate with writers who don't like writing! I'm a little cactus that way. This is the hardest job in the world (not counting surgeon, hostage negotiator, middle school science teacher, etc.). Why would you try to get the hardest job in the world and hate it?
So anyway, as I was trotting home today I thought, "I guess I should have invited so and so to write with me today." But truthfully, I just want to be alone. I network because apparently it's important. But in a perfect world I would never have to.
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