I love to write because it keeps me from slapping my imaginary assistant, Sally. (We’re good now. Writing heals.) When all I feel like doing is tripping Care Bears and pulling the plug on the jumping castle, I have to write.
In life I’ll be nice, play fair, make you a sandwich and rub your back. But in Writing-Land… why yes I do own the whole damn place. And I’ll call you a ho if I feel like it.
I love to write because it keeps me from doing real work. I can do absolutely nothing all day and call it ‘brainstorming’. People are impressed with that.
Instead of playing with people’s minds, I play with words. I love words. Love to twist them, eat them, blackmail them, spit ‘em out, wrestle them, corrupt them. Then offer them a cigarette and start manipulating them all over again.
In writing, there is no one there to stop my madness.
Writing is good for me. It keeps me from eating cheesecake, collecting cats, and licking the earlobes of hot strangers on the street. It keeps me out of pool halls and strip joints, except when doing serious research, as is required with the job.
In Writing-Land, I trip the bully in the school bus aisle. He lands flat and red-faced. And no one catches me. There is justice.
It lets me create magic, fear, wonder, and some deep belly laughs.
Writing lets me make fun of others in a public forum, under the protection of the 1st Amendment. I love this. I need this.
In writing, I can live vicariously through my slutty characters. When my real love life feels like Kraft Mac-n-Cheese, in my writing, I am Cherries En Flambe. Yes. My name is Bianca. I always have a breeze flowing through my red hair and every man is my uber-skilled “Lovah”.
Writing suits me. Socially unacceptable acts are largely ok, falling under the broad heading of “research”. And I make myself laugh all day — my favorite thing to do!
Writing lets me go anywhere I want to go. Unlike life. (Restraining order be damned!) It’s the only way to extend my time in La-La-Land, without being committed. Again.
I love writing because my alter-ego, Svetlana, the highly trained KGB spy, can do everything I cannot. (And she veeel eenterrrogate you veeth top-secret torrrture techneeeque. Da.)
I love to write because my wacked-out voice needs to escape. I like to wonder if there are people out there who need my kind of kooky. I needed to read a voice like this when I was young.
I love writing because it lets me expose myself to strangers. And touch them. But it’s just writing. So I can’t go to jail for it.
If I didn’t write, I might spontaneously combust.
(Did I spell that right? Sally, can you Google that for me? And some coffee would be nice.)