*This post sparked by a Facebook Meme and the resultant comments. The meme stated: “Writers literally create worlds from scratch… What is sexier than that? I don’t know why every person out there isn’t dating a writer.” by Rachel Bloom. This article is a hybrid of ideas presented about the nature of ‘being a writer’, the thoughts they led me to, and the further expansion of thought/comments from Facebook, Twitter, and private messaging.*
Few understand what it means to be a writer.
Yes, they know about our love of words, our fanatical need to perfect a sentence, and our frenzied creative bursts. But grasping the reality of what it is like to be a writer is a concept so foreign it makes others feel uncomfortable or rejected.
There are only two worlds that exist for writers.
Time Writing and Time Not Writing
The Time Writing world is where we want to live. We are ever seeking a means to get back to this magical place where stars are born in the space of a breath and everyone is known and knows as intimately as if they’d shared the same womb.
The Time Not Writing world is hell, a infinite distraction, that we walk in, trying to puzzle out how to get back to our Time Writing world.
The rub is that our Time Not Writing world is where people live. Family, friends, jobs, obligations to non-writing. Genuinely, we love these things. Most of us wouldn’t trade them for anything. Except Time Writing. Which riddles us with guilt. Guilt for walking in the Time Not Writing world, and guilt for not being in the Time Writing world.
The most difficult part often is the social ramification. We love our family and friends. They love us. They don’t want to hear (as was best put in the Facebook conversation on this matter) “Of course I want to spend time with you, but…” This leads to feelings of rejection.
The non-writer who loves one reads this and thinks I’m not that way; I want them to have as much time as they need to write. And you do; bless you, you really do. Until you realize Time Writing and Time Not Writing has nothing at all to do with time.
With a full blessing the non-writer in love with one gives the writer leave to work on whatever project they are
enraptured with dealing with at that point. “I’ll give you as much time as you want. How about a month of no distractions to finish that project?” Non-writer says. It’s kind. And pointless.
Time Writing has no time. It is timeless, eternal and fleeting. One month becomes two months;
becomes six months; becomes a year. A year of not interacting, not being distracted, not participating in anything but Time Writing. No one’s patience is that infinite. But a writer’s need of Time Writing is that expansive. Suddenly the need for detachment is unhealthy, although a writer has never been happier. The desire for the writer to rejoin the Time Not Writing world becomes pressing, and we rejoin it, with reluctance
and an outright bitch-fest but understanding.
Then the non-writer is left knowing we are with them, but also just want to get back to Time Writing. The writer is there and not there, part of their mind, soul, in the Time Writing world. And any time we’re in the Time Not Writing world one hundred percent, not distracted at all by Time Writing, we are some of the most miserable, sorriest, least organized and functional lots ever.
So, yes, the premise of being in a relationship with a writer is sexy. What writers do is stimulating. Anyone would want to be constantly stimulated by exposure to that. But, resoundingly, we’re also alien to the point of being unfathomable. Who wants to be in a relationship with someone you have nothing in common with and can’t understand the very basics of their existence?