I've got a wooden sign on my office wall made by Josi that declares the following:
I will NOT live like a NORMAL person. I AM A WRITER!
Truer words were never spoken.
A few pieces of evidence that indicate that no, I am NOT normal:
-I carry a book with me. Everywhere.
-My list of "to be read" books grows exponentially faster than my "books I've read" list.
-I have shelves lined with 3-ring binders that include research ranging from the history of denim to colic in horses.
-My bookshelves also include many classics.
-Nearby are titles that are not exactly classics: books about poisons, fraud, weapons, forensic medicine, the criminal mind, and even one on Snoopy's word of wisdom on writing.
-I think semicolons rock.
-I hear news stories and start coming up with other "what if" scenarios, imagining characters and possible conflicts that could spin off from today's headlines. I imagine what it would be like to be there myself. Or even try to get into the bad guy's head and (to me, what's more interesting) wonder what the HECK was HE thinking?
-Some of my favorite people don't exist. And never have.
-I talk to these people, and they talk back.
-I read aloud to my kids or my husband and interrupt myself to go, "Wow. Now that's a cool image."
-I fall asleep at night thinking about storylines, conflicts, and lines of dialogue.
-I catch myself making weird facial expressions and gestures at the computer in an effort to explain them on paper.
-When something bad happens to me (like when I broke my nose recently), I pay special attention to the details because you never know what might be fodder for a book.
-I prefer typing to speaking. I can always go back and revise, erase, and edit words on the screen. Not so with words spoken--and all too often they come out wrong.
-I have a hard time reading books purely for the pleasure of it.
And my personal favorite from just yesterday:
My preschooler demonstrated why her copy of Watch Your Step, Mr. Rabbit! was in the kids' bathroom: She sat on the toilet, and with her pants around her ankles, which dangled in the air, she opened up the book, saying, "See? Now I'm like you, Mommy."
Yes, folks. I admit it. I read magazines in the bathroom. These include things like Writer's Digest, publications that I write for (or what to write for), and so on.
It's called multi-tasking, right?
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