Ten Ways You Know You've Made It

Have you ever wanted something so badly, you crossed over from “want,” ran straight past “need” and fell headlong into blindly obsessed?

My thoughts in such situations always paraphrased Ethel Merman (whom I am only aware exists because of the military hospital flashback scene in Airplane.) But from the time I was old enough to have what passes for my version of goals, I would think, If I could just [insert achievement here], everything will be coming up roses for the rest of my natural life. Speaking of roses: free-association link to a time a boy wrote me a stupid poem.

When I was eight, the thing that would set my world aright was saving up enough allowance to buy Day-to-Night Barbie on the next trip to Target. When I got older, I transferred that fixation to getting a certain boy. Then, to getting rid of that same boy. There was always something that was going to make my personal stars align and cause all of my Perfection pieces to fall into their slots before the timer ran out.

This game is so stressful. I always felt like I was trying to cut the right wire to stop the atomic bomb from exploding. Why are these kids so happy?

Despite the fact that I definitely should have known better, I did this with my writing aspirations. I longed to go from the writer I’d always been in my heart to a capital “W” writer — the kind who is practiced at the craft, the kind people at least occasionally, unsuspectingly ask for writing advice.

If I could just be labeled “Writer,” all of my dreams would be fulfilled. I would never again experience self-doubt, depression or that creeping sense that I am incapable of functioning above the level of “needs improvement” in a capitalist system.

At long last, I am a Writer.

The heavens did not open up and shine golden light upon my keyboard when it happened, nor did I receive an embossed golden quill from the goddess of online publishing. I don’t even know when it happened, but I know it did because I occasionally eavesdrop on people saying, “April’s a writer.” I am practiced in the art of seeking validation from others, so I know this means I have arrived.

Just to be sure, though — because, despite the crowning glory of approval, I am still plagued with self-doubt — I gathered some evidence.

Here are 10 ways to know you’re a writer or really an artist of any kind:

1. You are plagued with self-doubt.

2. You write about things you don’t want to write about during the day for very little money so you can write things you DO want to write about at night for no money at all.

3. You wear pajamas all day or sleep in your clothes. Or lose track entirely of which clothes are intended for which occasions. (I’m going to a wedding this weekend and may need therapy to figure out how to dress appropriately.)

4. People ask you what you write about, and fifteen minutes into your rambling diatribe on the nuances and unique unquantifiability of your work, they wander off in search of a root canal.

5. You overuse analogies like “root canal” as shorthand for the worst imaginable pain, even though you’ve never had one.

6. Reading the news (housing shortage, camping ban, book ban, sex-ed ban…) sends you vent-scribbling in a notebook to exorcise your indignant demons and keep the anger from eating you.

7. You would rather read than do anything else. Ever. The apocalypse is nigh, and the zombies are prying the plywood off the living room windows, but hold on, lemme finish this chapter.

8. You want to tell EVERYONE all the fascinating shit you learn while reading. Your youngest child kicks you out of his bed because after tucking him in, you lay there in the dark recounting what you’d learned about indigenous Americans’ political structures, and he “doesn’t like to learn about politics while he’s trying to sleep.” (Fine.)

9. You lose your phone nineteen times a day because you are wandering around in LaLa Land, pondering the plot of your next novel. It takes you half a day to notice, so people resort to flinging carrier pigeons into the air in attempts to contact you.

10. You write a listicle to rationalize your unproductive lifestyle. You spend hours on this instead of foraging through LinkedIn for a “real job,” which, according to your spouse and your bank account, you could really use.

11. You cannot read anything — memes, ads, heartfelt letters from friends — without mentally copyediting as you go. You (mostly) resist the urge to scratch “helpful” corrections in the margins.

12. Despite your love of accuracy and copyediting, you’re willing to completely ignore the fact that you’ve just written a “Ten Things…” list with twelve entries.

Have a lovely weekend full of joy and pain, sunshine and rain…

Shit, I’ve slipped into song again. Speaking of song, here’s a bit of Ethel and “Everything’s Coming Up Roses” to set the mood for your Friday. You’re very welcome.