How to survive a relationship with a writer
Fucking thank you.
I don’t know. I don’t think you can tar all writers with the same brush. We’re all different people. While some parts of this list are true, a more accurate guide to dating me would be named “How to survive a relationship with a young adult horror/thriller writer named Sarah” and it would probably look like this:
1. Don’t ask me how my book is going if you haven’t seen me writing for a few days. Instead, subtly suggest I work on it without mentioning my recent neglect.
2. Ask me what my opinions are on the latest bestseller. Trust me, I have a lot.
3. Only say you’re thinking of writing a book if you actually are. Don’t say it to impress me, and certainly don’t act like it would be an easy side-project if you deigned to bother. If you’re serious about writing, I’ll be excited that it’s something we can share. And if you ask me for advice on new projects, I’ll be honoured that you value my opinion.
4. Everything is research. Don’t be alarmed if you see my search history, if I start knocking over chairs in cafes for no apparent reason, or if I exclaim, “OOOH, THIS IS JUST LIKE MOVING A BODY!”
5. Leave me alone when I’m actually writing. Of course, if you notice that I haven’t eaten for a while, leave a small offering near my feet. Sacrifices of coffee are always welcome, although I’ll probably forget to thank you.
6. Don’t pick unfair fights with me. Or anyone you’re dating, writer or no. That just makes you a dick.
7. If we do fight, please explain your motivations. Otherwise, how am I supposed to extrapolate from it?
8. If I wander off at a party, worrying might be a good idea. If I haven’t had enough to drink, the crowd is probably making me panic. Left unattended and intoxicated, I’m inclined to do stupid things.
9. Notebooks and cute pens make great gifts. So do flowers. And pretty clothes and shoes and tattoo vouchers. Just because I’m an artist doesn’t mean that I’m not shallow. On that note, don’t buy me chocolate unless you want to hear me complain about my weight for days.
10. When a rejection letter arrives, Jesus Christ, get me something stronger than coffee. Also, hugs are always appreciated.
We should totes make this a thing. Every writer has their own little quirks.
Ten Tips on How to Survive a Writer Named InterNutter
1. Don’t ask how my book is going. I will go on for hours. Even if you don’t ask, you will get a score update on how many words I wrote.
2. DO NOT ASK ABOUT BEST-SELLERS. Best-sellers are rarely, if ever, in my favourite genres. The last one that was both best-seller *AND* IMHO a good read was the Harry Potter series. That was some years and fucking Twilight ago. Grump.
3. Never tell me you don’t have the time to write. Because I have found it. In bus stops. At train stations. In queues. On public transit. Waiting for some other person to get their thumb out of their butt and get on with things. There’s always time to write. Even if it’s just inside your own head.
4. My browser history is full of weird shit. Some of it is actual research. Some of it is for giggles. Have fun guessing which is which.
5. When I am in “the writer zone”, I cackle. I also make faces according to the emotion I’m writing. I also mutter. If you interrupt any single one of these, to find out why I’m doing this - I might just turn into a homicidal ragebeast and hit you with my manuscript. Consider yourself warned.
However, offerings of deliciousness and occasional coffee are appreciated. Just don’t stick them between my face and my screen. I may bite.
6. Do not pick unfair fights. I have a long memory and prefer my revenge served at zero kelvin on a golden platter.
7. If you absolutely, positively must fight about something, make sure both sides know what the hell the topic is. Otherwise 6 will happen.
8. If I wander off at a party it’s because I feel like I don’t belong. I usually blend into the walls and listen, rather than participate. I need as much information on normal people as I can get. Leave me in my duck hide, thanks.
9. Pens are good. Pens are very good. I like to have a stash of pens. Other good presents include good chocolate, care and attention and, if you’re feeling very lavish, a decent fucking computer that won’t die on me.
10. If the dreaded rejection letter happens, I will be an emotional wreck. Do not expect me to be completely functional for at least a month. Emotional support is vital. I need hugs to live. And lots of chocolate.
…I had way too much fun with this…
