We're all a bunch of neurotic babies

"We" being writers, of course. It's true. We all necessarily get obsessed about the worlds in our heads, we all want everyone to love us (who doesn't?), and as a group we labor in the hopes of reaching goals that become meaningless if we even stray near them.

Sold a book?

When's the next one coming out?

Earned out?

What about the sales of the next one?

Made a list?

What about the bigger list?

Etc.

I'm amazed anyone puts up with us.

This and other topics, by the way, were part of the long conversation that Lisa Shearin and I had over lunch today. We hadn't met before, but we both live in this area, we were both Compton Crook award nominees, and we're both in the very early stages of our writing careers, so meeting seemed the natural thing to do. I also felt it only fair to share a little of the award money by buying lunch. Lisa is serious about and focused on her work, and I wish her all the luck in the world.

For the other nominees--Joe, Sandra, and Patrick--if we're ever at the same con and you're interested, I'm buying lunch.

Writers are emotional babies

We really are. We lap up every drop of praise as if it's the best thing we've ever tasted, and we fall apart inside at the slightest bit of criticism. Some of us do a better job than others at hiding this behavior, but it's right there, under the surface, in every writer I've ever known.

I, of course, am an exception, a paragon of maturity, secure and unshakable in my self-confidence.

Oh, yeah. Definitely.

I warned you not to write.

I haven't previously warned you not to associate with writers, because that bit of advice should be self-evident, but I'm warning you now. After all, why would anyone want to put up with them?

If you choose to ignore either of these warnings, you do so at your own peril.

Don't blame me.