In Love With Writing…

…or in love with being a Writer?


Writing is like being in love; those first heady days when you sit down and write for hours. It’s so easy, the words flow, and you write until your eyes smart and your ass thinks it’s been whopped with a textbook. You print out your precious little darling, and you take it to bed to read and admire. You pore over the pages with a goofy smile, raised heartbeat, and your guts are doing somersaults under the quilt. You’re so excited you can barely sleep, and wake early for another session on the computer.

Hell; you and Writing are In Lurve.

Such a pity that love is blind. You decide to show your new love, Writing, to the family. Uhoh. Now remember this; Mom and Dad love you. They think you are wonderful. But They Know Best. Think what happened when they met your first girlfriend (or boyfriend.) I bet they were polite to her face, guarded greetings maybe, a covert assessment while they shook hands. It’s going to be just the same when you introduce them to your new love, Writing. Usually this can go one of two ways. Your folks might tell you what you want to hear; your Writing is good, it’s awesome, it’s the dog’s danglies. Or they can tell you what they don’t like about your Writing (even if they don’t know Writing very well). Just like they did with your first girlfriend (boyfriend). Your folks either thought she was great because she dressed nicely and went to Church, or your folks got hypercritical and told you privately that she was a callow, self-centred little lummox and you were too good for her.

Your Writing might be a callow, self-centred little lummox (despite the nice clothes and going to Church), but doting parental approval will blind you to her faults. But equally, telling you that your beloved Writing is a callow lummox will make you turn away from your parents, because, hell, you and the lummox are in lurve, and parents are old and crumbly and have forgotten what it’s like to be in lurve (if they ever knew). It’s nice to take Writing home to meet the folks, but it really isn’t helpful.

Eventually, if you are truly in love with Writing, that besotted stage passes. You look at your Writing and see the lummoxishness, the lack of manners, that the nice clothes don’t match and need laundering, but you also see the good, and know how to make the bad better. You and Writing have gone from being in lurve to a lasting, loving marriage where you fall out sometimes, hell, you hate each other sometimes, but you still make love, and when you do, it’s good… better than when you were first in lurve, because you know Writing better, think more, and aim to please, rather than exploding prematurely over the paper.

But if you’re in love with being A Writer, the In Lurve stage never passes. You never look at your beloved Writing, because you are too busy looking at yourself, The Writer. You are self-obsessed, preening and displaying, while poor Writing is left languishing and wondering whether to invest in a vibrator. And because the In Lurve stage never passes, poor Writing is left in mismatched, dirty clothes, while you posture to the world.

Isn’t the internet great? And isn’t word-mangling fun?

M