Being a writer means eating pez out of a reindeer dispenser in your pajamas, at three in the afternoon.
It means that the only conversation to be had all day is with yourself or with your dog.
It means feeling things, feeling them on a deep level that doesn’t always make sense to those around us.
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The process of writing something is not over when I push, “publish.” It is only over once I’ve agonized over the content for hours, and I’ve cried.
Never feeling finished with your work.
Always comparing your work to others.
Being a writer means being your biggest critic or your biggest fan. It all depends on the day, and blood alcohol level.
Being a writer means talking about things that make other people feel uncomfortable, including yourself.
It means never having a regular sleep schedule because you’re always at the mercy of that bitch we call inspiration.
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Being a writer means everything is now a potential distraction to avoid writing.
Distractions including a pez dispenser, which you now broke out of frustration.
It means taking a vow of poverty and self-loathing for eternity.
To a certain extent you kind of get what Sylvia Plath was thinking when she put her head in that oven.
It means getting a thrill when you create something out of nothing.
It’s an even bigger thrill when your something means more than just nothing to a stranger
Being a writer means that you spend large periods of time wishing you were something else other than a writer.
When you make bad decisions you chalk it up to life experience and say you’ll be able to write about it.
Being a writer means that alcohol serves as “creative juice” and therefore we partake in it early and often.
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When Ernest Hemingway summed it up quite nicely with his Nobel Prize speech:
Writing, at its best, is a lonely life. Organizations for writers palliate the writer’s loneliness but I doubt if they improve his writing. He grows in public stature as he sheds his loneliness and often his work deteriorates. For he does his work alone and if he is a good enough writer he must face eternity, or the lack of it, each day.
When you write lists about being a writer because you don’t know what else to write.
Day Fifty-Eight
See Brooke Write 
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