Writers are strange people.
You will find them staring out the window at the way the sun shines perfectly through the clouds, considering how to describe it perfectly, because they automatically have a perfect story or scene to go with it.
You will find them glaring at their computer screen, furious because they’re stuck and they’re just so insanely dissapointed that their story can’t write itself.
You will find them going silent on long car rides after driving through a small town, and you can’t tell, but they just saw a story unfold before their eyes, and they need to find the ending and commit it to memory before it fades away.
You will find them lying awake in bed when they’re meant to be asleep with their phone in front of them, typing away furiously because they dreamt the begginings or a perfect book, and they have to get it down before it fades.
You will find them closing their eyes when a certain song comes on the radio; associating that melody with their own characters, or even characters in the books they’ve read.
You will find them up at three in the morning, still typing away, because nothing, nothing is more important than these people, these characters and this story that they’ve poured their souls in to. Especially not something as trivial as sleep.
You will find them reading through books in two days, because every writer must be a reader. Learning other people’s stories is almost as good as learning their own.
You will find them scribbling furiously on an old credit card bill in the middle of the grocery store, because it was the first piece of paper they found, and they had an idea, a specific diologue or passage that they just couldn’t forget.
You will find them writing quotes everywhere; quotes from their favorite books, quotes from TV shows or movies that left an impression, quotes from the songs that get stuck in their head while writing a particular story. Words are an author’s air, they are an author’s water. Without being surrounded by words, writers are lost.
Writers are strange people. Sometimes it’s hard to put up with them. Sometimes it’s hard to understand them. But if you get close to a writer, you’ll find that they love like no one else, and they have a million ways to express their love. They’re crazy, and insane, and quiet, and most of them are insomnic. All of their emotions are more intense, all of their relationships mean more, every heartbreak hurts harder.
I am a writer, and I can promise that writers are strange people.