Like many daydreaming youths, I once pictured the life of a writer as a dance between cool genius and raving eccentricity. Writers spent their time in the hippest (defined as such by their lack of appeal to the general public) cafes, smoking fags and savoring espresso. Discerning eyes would people-watch from the narrow shadow of a beret, “knowing” a passerby with breath-catching intimacy in the span of two blinks.
A year ago, I decided to be a Writer.
I can’t bring myself to smoke. Tried it once in high school, desperately fought to not puke afterwards.- Sipping espresso: Check. In fact, I drink twice as much as I imagined Writers should — you know, to make up for the whole not smoking thing.
- People-watching is natural, as I am naturally nosey. Breath-catching intimacy? Maybe not, but I adeptly read most body language, and I’m quite good at imagining stories for strangers.
- I never could bring myself to buy a beret. I just don’t have the bone structure for it. (And they leave those forehead lines — girls know what I mean).
Imagine my surprise when, just last evening, I found myself diagraming speech patterns for my characters. ”Oh dear,” I said to Bandit, “I’ve crossed over into eccentricity.” My cat blinked casually; she rarely responds once she’s weaseled dinner from me.
I wiped dust from my copy of “Martha and Bob,” adding it to the nightstand book pile (if that thing ever falls, I’m sure to lose an eye). It’s been too long; I need to brush up on my grammar (I’m sure I could give an editor fits with my reckless use of punctuation and clauses!) and there’s no point putting it off when I can layer it in *somewhere.*
Thus far, I dare say that diagramming speech patterns is the most unexpected thing I’ve done while writing/revising my novel.
What’s the oddest or least expected thing you’ve done when writing?