Writers Are a Quirky Lot

Virginia Woolf wrote her books while standing up.

Edgar Allan Poe habitually wore black.

Emily Dickinson and Mark Twain habitually wore white.

Charles Dickens walked nearly 20 miles a day.

Stephen King writes in the same seat at home and arranges his manuscript and notes in neat piles.

Writers are notoriously eccentric. It’s simply part of the job description. I’m not a famous author by any stretch of the imagination, but I do have a few of my own quirks. See if you can relate to any of these…

I’m a creeper.
I love crowds. The more people in one place, the better. Why? Because I’m the one eavesdropping on the conversation next to me. And it’s not just my ears that get a workout. I people watch too, mentally taking notes about interesting body language and unique individuals.

I’m a zombie.
Usually I’m a very good listener. Key word: usually. Sometimes, however, if a person is talking and they use a unique phrase or bring up a topic that makes me go “hmmm”, whammo! My brain sprints to left field, and while I’m still there in person giving off the appearance I’m listening intently, Michelle has left the building and is working out a kink in plot or character in her mind.

I’m not a homebody.
I cannot write at home. Impossible. There’s laundry. Dishes. The dog needs to go potty. My kid needs a ride to Timbuktoo. Whatever. The most prolific place for me to go is a library, though I usually end up at Starbucks.

These twanging any kindred spirit heartstrings out there, or am I the only freak? Come on. Don't leave me dangling. What quirk are you hiding up your sleeve?