I'm Not Crazy, I'm a Writer

If you are ever out with a writer who suddenly becomes sullen, gives one-word responses to your questions or starts doodling intently on a napkin and ignoring you completely, you should probably tell her to go home.

Writers just need to be alone sometimes. Okay, I just need to be alone sometimes. Maybe other writers don't have the sullen doodling problem.

The need for space can be tricky when you're a parent. But my kids are older now and no longer constantly reside within three feet of me, so I rarely get that panicky feeling of needing to lock myself in a room and breathe.

At least not when I'm with the kids. I still get it all the time with strangers.

I now understand that when I wish I could completely disappear into the vinyl seat on a crowded bus, I am not socially crippled or dangerously introverted. It's just my cue. Enough people for now. I am like a super-absorbent sponge in public. I think way too much about what all those people might be thinking or feeling or doing.

I'm learning to live with it.

For example, I recently went to a workshop put on by the Writers' Union of Canada. I was excited. I thought, "Hey, here's a chance for me to be in a roomful of other writers AND I get to learn stuff!"

Unfortunately, it turned out to be one of those days. The bus vinyl days. The "don't look at me and please, please don't talk to me" days.

I got to the workshop late and walked into a small room crammed with about 70 people. An instructor was already speaking. A woman greeted me at the door and said there was a seat for me right at the front. I tried to politely decline but she insisted, and as she happened to be the executive director of the Writers' Union, I said yes. I then had to walk directly in front of the speaking instructor, who stopped speaking while I passed. All 70 people stared at me.

My seat was on the side of the room farthest from the doors. I spent the entire day feeling vaguely trapped. During the breaks I had no desire to go and talk to anyone in the sea of chattering, networking people. Instead I stared out the giant windows, studied the label on my bottle of orange juice and played with my phone.

It turned out okay in the end, though. We were put into small groups after lunch and I did meet a couple of people who were very cool, funny and interesting. Not that I was surprised. It isn't that I think strangers won't be interesting. I know they will be. That's the problem. Because on the bus vinyl days, I just can't take in any more. I have to process a bunch of interesting stuff that's already happened first.

I spent most of high school and college mortified with how quiet and awkward and prickly I felt in large groups (like classrooms). I try not to do that now. I try not to worry that people will think I'm shy or a snob or ~worst of all~ boring.

I tell myself it's just a writer thing. And I'm good with that.