Writers are by in large a remarkably boring lot. I tend to be a bit more expressive than some, which makes it hard to write in public. I grimace, laugh out loud, tear up and generally get way too involved in whatever I’m writing so that passers by stare. Maybe it’s because a lot of what I write plays out in my head like a movie. Only one that I can stop, alter, and step into at whim.
So, while the inside of my head is full of dramatic, earth-shaking, deeply moving junk, all you see on the outside is a standard crazy lady. I used to talk about what’s on the inside, but to my amazement nobody really wanted to hear it. There’s a world of difference between telling someone that the heroine cuts her way out of the top of the head of a sea serpent, and writing about it. Where telling people elicited laughter or disbelief, the actual scene got the thumbs up from my beta readers.
So I try not to talk too much about writing. I don’t sit around and grumble even though the process is often far from enjoyable because most people will ether fix the problem (not possible) or tell me to stop writing (also not possible. I’ve tried.)
Now that I’m focusing on revisions, I expect to be a very boring person.
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