Of course you are. Writers are needy. We need love, we need inspiration, we need time to write, we need to figure out how to write the next scene, we need to stop writing and go outside for once—don’t you realize that it’s spring???
Love. My friend came over the other day. “I made Critique Partner cry,” I told her. Friend is not a writer. “Oh,” she said. “And I almost made myself cry,” I added. “I’m sorry. I brought beer, will that help?” She looked relieved when the subject changed. We’re entrenched in the emotional highs and lows of writing. But even if your writing makes your friends nervous, they’ll still come over with beer. (Lyra, it was Sierra Nevada Little Sumpin’ Ale. Surprisingly good. Also fun to turn to your friend, waggle your eyebrows, and say “Can you get me a little Sumpin’ Sumpin’?”)
Inspiration. In my brain, my manuscript looks like an elephant with a shriveled back end. I’ve written out two thirds of the book, but the last third is tiny and shrunken, undeveloped, possibly painful. It’s the trenches, and I have to go back to the front. I have to stop with the stupid metaphors. I have to write more.
Time. I need to write and then I need to recover. (The last third of the book is the most painful part for me.) I need time to whine and have beer with my friends. I need to blog about it. I need to send shit out. I need to take on my new book (editing) project. I need to sleep. I need to watch [sci fi show redacted] with DP. I need to host my favorite second-oldest sister.
Enough about me. What do you need?