1
You secretly despise social media and
suspect that it is all useless. Most of it
is deadly dull and you seem to be in one big loop with other writers – all
posting at each other in a big circle. Presumably if you got super-famous you’d
have to stop it all anyway because you’d be overwhelmed by nutters
tweeting/messaging you about your underwear. You’d like to forget the whole
thing…
Auntie
Blotto says….
Drop the lot….But hold on. What if it is important? Oh drat. Nobody knows. You’ll
have to grin and bear it, and make an effort not to be dull. That way you might
even start having some fun.
2
You get regular stabs of envy when you see
the work of other writers, especially those who work in a similar field to you.
You imagine they are wallowing in money, rose petals and ass’s milk delivered
by genuflecting publishers. The envy makes you feel mean and twisted, and
frustrated with your own work.
Auntie
Blotto says…
It’s a natural reaction in a competitive
business. Turn it positive by admiring and learning from the work of others. Easy....Ahem.
PS: Some people in life will go
out of their way to lord it over you, slathering you with news of their
greatness when you meet them. Learn to put ‘bullshit shields’ up when you see
them coming, like mental versions of those deflector shields Captain Kirk used in Star Trek, or
avoid these people and get on with your own achievements.
3
You secretly have dark feelings towards acquaintances who aren’t
writers and have, instead, chosen to work in jobs which give them huge pensions
that you can only dream of. You privately hope they feel they have wasted their
lives doing boring things and this makes them miserable on the many expensive
holidays they will/are taking.
Auntie
Blotto says…
Let it go. You made your choices. But you
could turn your lowly income into a positive by living in a very green/good for
the planet manner, and making sure your aeroplane-hopping friends know about
it….and feel guilty. Hah!
4
When at local social gatherings you have a love of
playing the ‘I’m a creative’ card, knowing that most people will think you’re
some sort of shaman and may feel inadequate because you have secret powers
that they will never understand.
Auntie
Blotto says…
Why not? It can be very satisfying when
you’re in a roomful of the pension-stuffed people mentioned in number 3. But use this card sparingly for the
full effect, and don’t overdo it by starting to wear self-consciously ‘whacky’
arty clothing, like a mad art teacher from the 1970s. It's perhaps best saved up the sleeve for Christmas drinks events and weddings.
5
Occasionally you wake up and think you will
never write another word. In fact you have forgotten how to write or even
spell.
Auntie
Blotto says…
Take a day off and go somewhere away from
your writing space – Somewhere that floats your creative boat (museum/exhibition/beach/stone
circle/shoe shop/actual creative boat– whatever you’re into). Also try looking at what people are doing in other branches of the arts. This might give you some fresh perspective.
Then pull yourself together and get on with
it, for goodness sake.
Auntie Blotto does not take private
consultations because she spends all her time making up any old stuff… Sorry,
that should be ‘writing self-help books’. She has promised to read your
confessions below, however.
She was talking to children’s author Moira
Butterfield, who is fortunately beyond criticism herself.
5 comments:
Love that! A very cheery post on a rainy morning - thank you. Auntie Blotto is so wise and comforting :D Does she have a suggestion for dealing with people (usually relatives) who like to ask "how is the writing going?" (they don't really want to know) and who then make patronising remarks when you try to answer and who then switch the subject back to themselves? I've tried a kind of cloaking devise (Star Trek style) when I see them approaching but they still seem to find me.
Simple, Hilary. With relatives, you reply, "Fine. How is your [fill in subject or person important to them]?" They then talk for an hour and forget about you. After all, they weren't interested anyway.
With non-relatives, you don't tell them you're a writer unless they have to know. If asked what you do, you say, "I work with a word-processor. What do you do?" They then forget about you and talk about their own job. (Which may be interesting and give you ideas.)
Perfect solution, Susan!
Love it, Moira! Thank you for brightening my day!
Ah how well Auntie Blotto understands us all, Moira!
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