Thursday, March 13, 2008

consider yourself warned: the top ten signs of the writing disease

People say that life is the thing, but I prefer reading.—Logan Pearsall Smith

Letters! I believe he dreams in letters!—Charles Dickens, David Copperfield

—“He has got no good red blood in his body,” said Sir James.—“No. Somebody put a drop under a magnifying-glass, and it was all semi-colons and parentheses,” said Mrs. Cadwallader.—George Eliot, Middlemarch

I don’t know how you feel about writers, or even how many writers you know. We can be tricky people--we’re susceptible to all kinds of trouble, from mild social awkwardness to major addictions, genius complexes, and chronic poverty. (In which case, we will be coming to your door, asking for bread in exchange for sonnets.)

If this alarms you, you might want to be on the lookout for us. Most writers will try to shield you from the actual event: the commitment of words to paper. And so, I’ve thought about the writers I know, the writers I’ve heard of, and I’ve even analyzed my own--ahem!--harmless preoccupations. What follows are ten warning signs that your friend, roommate, or family member (hereafter called the “subject") may be slipping into writerly tendencies.

1. The subject becomes dizzy or lightheaded when someone speaks slightingly of dictionaries; she also has strong feelings about grammar. She favors certain usages or punctuation marks, and she defends (at times violently) her opinion of Shakespeare, Hemingway, Dickens, Faulkner, and E. E. Cummings. She may create a shrine around her dictionary and thesaurus, complete with candles. (The subject is especially far gone if there is a framed portrait of Samuel Johnson or a bust of Shakespeare alongside.) She may even name her plants, pets, or children after writers, characters in books, or grammatical terms. ("Gerund," which becomes Gerry for short, is a popular choice.)

2. Look for signs that the subject is writing in bed, in the dark. This is usually observable, because he will appear the next morning with ink marks on his skin, especially on his face, arms, and even elbows. Ink on the clothes, too, can be a sign.

3. The subject keeps many pens and a lot of paper in her purse. Her condition is more advanced if she frequently forgets her wallet, keys, or other “important” items. The subject thinks it’s normal to have at least ten pens in her purse at all times (often more), and she claims she feels nervous with just two. She will probably rationalize her behavior: “You need ballpoints, and roller balls, and several colors at least, and backups on all counts. And you need all different kinds of paper: a big pad for big ideas, index cards--handy for many things, a notebook with pages that are never torn out, and a small pad of scratch paper, just in case.” Subject grows agitated if you try to prize the pens away from her.

4. If the subject mentions being “blocked,” and your comments about prune juice receive quizzical looks, then he is most likely using writer jargon for “having difficulty continuing a project.” If you are trying to discourage the writing habit, convert your offer of a drugstore run into any attempt to distract the subject from his work--this “block” is a fabulous opportunity for turning around his condition. Avoid bookstores and libraries at all costs.

5. The subject notoriously forgets to buy clothes, but always buys books. She exhibits an utter disregard for fashion and socially acceptable standards of dress.

6. Subject displays a fondness for big or unusual words, and peppers his everyday conversation with gems like sanguineous, mendacious, irrefragable, acrimonious, and pulchritude.

7. She grows angry when confronted with (what she may term) a “hideous” book cover or a “dull” book title, but lapses into a state of bliss when in the presence of a “felicitous” one.

8. He talks back to people whom you cannot hear--voices that seem to be in his head alone. He writes down things he claims that they say. Readily stares off into space. (This is a very serious sign.)

9. She stops all conversation, or whatever else she’s doing, to copy down an intriguing phrase that you just said. (A more advanced sign: While pretending to chat with you, the subject is actually eavesdropping on the people nearby, and is writing their conversation down.)

10. The subject is reading, always reading--this is especially notable if he reads more than one book at a time. (For instance: If he’s packing for a trip, he may claim that ten books are necessary for a three-day absence.) He is never without a book, and tries to do things one-handed so he can continue reading always: he wedges the book under his chin to continue reading while making a bed, chopping vegetables, driving, etc. (Intervention may be required, especially in the last example.)

If this subject demonstrates two or three of these traits, the writing disease may already be taking hold. If they show signs of more than three, they are almost certainly a writer. And if they exhibit seven or more traits, they have a particularly virulent, dangerous, and possibly contagious form of the disease.

There are several ways to proceed. First of all, don’t panic. Try to make it impossible for the writer to get to her desk, keyboard, or writing implement. This is easier than it sounds. Guilt is an effective tool. So is education: Teach her all about new technology, and encourage her to check her email a thousand times a day. Busyness is also useful: Max out her schedule with tedious errands and appointments. Finally, use force: Strap her to a chair facing the TV and turn it on. Leave her there for a week.

If all this fails, then pretend to sympathize. Do some research and present her with the statistics on the publishing industry. (These are readily available.) Show her, in cold, black numbers, the chances that she will (1) even finish her book; (2) find someone to buy it; (3) successfully make it to publication; (4) earn any money from it, let alone enough to live on; and (5) recover enough to publish a second time, avoiding the dreaded “sophomore slump.”

If, after hearing this, your writer seems undeterred, then psychiatric help, medication, and electroshock treatment is necessary. --jl

Note: Lest there be any misunderstandings over the treatment recommended above: I do not speak from experience. My own family failed me miserably. They’ve never once helped me turn my back on writing, and I’m as sick as ever. They’ve practically paved the way to my desk, removed all guilt, helped me keep my schedule clear, and have even said encouraging things about my work. Maybe I should find a therapy group? Because no one helps me here…

Posted by Jenn Langefeld on 03/13 at 04:54 PM
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