The Crazy Writer

Thinking about the Nanowrimo writing challenge makes me want to be a crazy writer. I mean I would like to think I would be the cool, zany writer who everyone admires. Someone people look up to and want to emulate, but I have an idea of how it will really go:

I will stop brushing my hair, because I am too distracted or obsessed with writing to care. Because it is naturally curly, my hair will just start weaving amongst itself until it is no longer brush-able or recognizable as hair. I will wear leggings all the time, even if they have holes and pair them with dresses, because if I wear a dress then I don’t have to try right?

I will never clean and I won’t shower as regularly. I might wear eyeliner more often–purple eyeliner. I have always been a fan of blue mascara, but never been brave enough to wear it. So I will start wearing that as well.

The amount of floral prints I wear will go through the roof. All I will think about is writing, and my fusband (future husband), but then some more writing. I will have a little studio in the back of our house and as fusband goes to work in his little office in the house (he works from home), I will totter off to my little room.

My little studio will be me, splashed all over the walls. All of the posters I love, paintings I have done, quotes I love, pictures, and  a really cool shirt that Ivan made that says,”I don’t give a sheep.” One corner will have my viola with a music stand, one will have an easel and my paints. And I will write all day long.

Or pretend to write all day long.

Basically I am going to be a hot mess. A hot, writing mess. If Fusband is the only one who thinks so, I am okay with that.


4 thoughts on “The Crazy Writer

  1. vickodo says:

    I like the picture you paint. I want to be a hot, writing mess too! Your post reminds me of that poem “When I am old, I shall wear purple” One of my absolute favorites. Here’s to hoping you get to be that person with the ever-understanding fusband.

      • vickodo says:

        By Jenny Joseph – and here you go:

        When I am an old woman, I shall wear purple

        with a red hat that doesn’t go, and doesn’t suit me.

        And I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves

        and satin candles, and say we’ve no money for butter.

        I shall sit down on the pavement when I am tired

        and gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells

        and run my stick along the public railings

        and make up for the sobriety of my youth.

        I shall go out in my slippers in the rain

        and pick the flowers in other people’s gardens

        and learn to spit.

        You can wear terrible shirts and grow more fat

        and eat three pounds of sausages at a go

        or only bread and pickles for a week

        and hoard pens and pencils and beer nuts and things in boxes.

        But now we must have clothes that keep us dry

        and pay our rent and not swear in the street

        and set a good example for the children.

        We must have friends to dinner and read the papers.

        But maybe I ought to practice a little now?

        So people who know me are not too shocked and surprised

        When suddenly I am old, and start to wear purple.

        I hope you like it as much as I do. This was also the inspiration, in part, of The Red Hat Society.

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