I love my job. No, like I’m literally obsessed with it. I can frequently be spotted writing furiously in my notebook, and typing away on my notes app at 2 am. I write constantly. Even when I’m sick. Even when I’m on vacation. Even when I have a million of other tasks to do. And at this point, being a writer is just embedded into my veins.
It’s like my morning cup of coffee I need to drink. I need to write to keep myself to sane. I don’t write an article once a month like Carrie Bradshaw does so dreamily with a cigarette in hand. No, my fingers are on speed. My brain is chalk full of words and sentences and fragments always running and running.
I have to write at least once a day, to feel okay about myself and about my self esteem. I do it to share my thoughts. I do it because I love it. And I do it to try to help people out. And honestly, to help myself out.
But when I became a staff writer for Thought Catalog, there were some things I didn’t anticipate. I had obstacles that were about to come my way that I did not expect. Boy, was I a fool.
I kind of just assumed people would be fine with me writing about them as long as I didn’t use their names. As long as I changed the story a little bit, it was probably okay. Embellishing the essay just enough to make it not obvious was definitely fine. I kind of assumed people would be chill with me writing about my exes and friends and family and love life every day because it’s my job and I can’t afford to run out of that juicy content!
Uh, yeah my bad.
As it turns out, people are REALLY sensitive if they think something is about them. And I get it. I mean it’s definitely a thin line to walk on, as a creative person. It’s a touchy and really difficult subject to tackle.
I honestly think writer’s probably write about love so much because they lack it. And it’s not because they don’t want it. It’s not that they don’t crave it. It’s not that they don’t love love. But people get scared. They turn our jobs into a comical event.
They turn our jobs into an egg hunt. Into a giant Rubik’s Cube trying to decipher who that sentence is about and who that book was written for.
As a woman being a writer, that shit can get old real fast. It’s like whenever Taylor Swift puts out a new song and the media pounces on the lyrics, automatically assuming who that one song is about and who that mellow ballad is about. We deem the woman writer as ‘crazy’. As ‘psycho’. As ‘clingy’. As ‘pathetic’. As ‘overly sensitive’. But people need to get that this is our JOB.
This is my job. And sometimes I’m going to write things based on a friends’ experience. Sometimes I’m going to make a scenario up in my head. Sometimes I’m going to write about reality. Sometimes I’m going to write about missing someone when I don’t miss them in actuality. Why?
Because I can’t write two or three articles a day where they are all solely based on my life. I can’t write every single day without fabricating from someone or something else. Not everything I write is going to be about how I’m feeling during that day. Not everything that I write about a boy is going to be about that ex or that ex.
And if you think something I wrote is about you, then you can feel smug or pissed off or furious, but I’m sorry, I’m really not sorry. You can tell me I’m a psycho person still in love with my first love, or that I’m a terrible person for writing about an experience I had, but look, this is my passion as well as the way I make my money. I don’t give a shit what you think.
And so, I’m done apologizing for that.