My Final (I Promise) 20 Reasons You Might Be A Writer

“It’s never too late to be what you might have been.” — George Eliot

You very well might be a writer if…

  1. There are no innocent bystanders in your life. Everybody becomes a character in your writing, warts and all. Especially the warts.
  2. You read the same piece you’ve written over and over again and your inner critic vacillates between: “I can’t believe I wrote something so beautiful” and “What the hell was I thinking? That’s it! I’m done! Never again! It’s back to planespotting for me!”
  3. You lose your mind if anyone attempts to organize that untidy mound of paper on your floor beside your desk, because you know exactly where every piece of writing and research is located in the pile.
  4. You can’t read your old writing from the periods when you actually believed with all your heart and soul that you were a naturally gifted writer, especially during your teen years. You just can’t. It’s too cringe-inducing.
  5. Writers block is as real to you as one of your annoying family members, only this one lives inside your head, taking up valuable space, and refuses to pick up after itself, pitch in with the chores or pay its fair share of the rent.
  6. You casually insert words you’ve invented into conversation and totally ignore the “Wait… what?” expression on your friends’ faces.
  7. The slightest noise from the outside world, the off-tune ice cream truck jingle, kids playing in the street, dogs barking, pushes you off the precipice of sanity in a Tell Tale Heart manner.
  8. A telephone book or an office directory is your character name generator.
  9. The blank page is your personal version of the First Gate of Hell and the cursor taunts you by blinking in Morse code: “Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch’intrate” and despite your fear, you’re slightly pleased with yourself because you know that translates as, “Abandon all hope, ye who enter here.”
  10. You call a pen without ink a dead soldier.
  11. Writers block makes you the most active person on the planet. Clean the fridge? No problem. Clear the leaves out of the rain gutter? Sure thing. Solve Goldbach’s conjecture (you know, every even integer greater than 2 can be expressed as the sum of two primes)? I’m on it. Spend quality time with the mother-in-law? Um, I think I might try my hand at writing, if you don’t mind.
  12. You hate the phrase, “Well, you’re the writer” whenever someone has to take notes or minutes or make a shopping list. Okay, maybe not the shopping list. It is a list, after all.
  13. You become a human spellcheck and thesaurus for your friends, family and co-workers.
  14. You’ve stubbed your toe or banged your shin in the dark, scrounging for a pen and piece of paper to jot down the absolutely brilliant idea that blindsided you in the middle of the night.
  15. You collect stories on the odd ways people have accidentally met their maker or have been murdered. For research purposes only, of course.
  16. You automatically rewrite the endings to disappointing movies or TV series in your head.
  17. You own more than ten novels that contain your own personal annotations and notes, but you don’t stop there. You also annotate .PDF files and have broken the cardinal sin of making notes in a borrowed book (shame on you).
  18. You own a box that contains old hotel card keys, movie, theater and airline ticket stubs, assorted restaurant and bar sundries (bar coasters, swizzel sticks, fruity drink umbrellas, menus), receipts, and the like, not only for future reference but for the tactile memories associated with each item.
  19. You hate your most embarrassing moments because they play over and over in the movie theater of your mind but revel in the fact that they’ll make great material for a future story.
  20. And finally, you very well might be a writer if writing is the beast that terrifies you to the very core of your being, yet you love it with all your heart, anyway.

Sally forth and be writeful.

— Rhyan Scorpio-Rhys

15 Further Reasons You Might Be A Writer

“You get ideas from daydreaming. You get ideas from being bored. You get ideas all the time. The only difference between writers and other people is we notice when we’re doing it.” ― Neil Gaiman

You very well might be a writer if…

  1. You recognize the tropes when friends tell you about a movie they’ve just seen and annoy them by correctly guessing the surprise twist ending.
  2. You fire off irate emails to professional critics who obviously lack the ability to comprehend even the most basic elements of the book they’re critiquing. Stupid critics.
  3. To you, Goodreads is the newer, better Facebook.
  4. When a boring person is speaking to you, your thoughts turn to something in the neighborhood of: “She stood amazed at this man, gifted with features so unremarkably plain as to render him virtually invisible amongst the crowd. More fascinating was how a mouth could move with such dexterity–the working of tongue against palate and teeth in complete choreography with lips glistening with the spittle of excitement–yet let slip content of no consequence.
  5. Your common review of most of the films that your friends have recommended is, “The book was much better.”
  6. New pens make you happy, especially the clickable kind. Click-click-click… joy.
  7. The aroma of an old book is your preferred air freshener scent.
  8. You have to piece your current story together from bar napkins, matchbook covers, toilet paper roll (hopefully unused), old (unpaid) parking tickets, business cards, or any other paper-esque scrap you can lay your hands on at the moment. And when no paper is available, your non-writing hand (and arm) becomes a suitable substitute.
  9. You suppress your rage in a physical argument with a colleague, only to recreate the argument in a story, filled with all the witty and biting things you could have/should have said.
  10. You find jokes of this ilk funny: I have a pet dinosaur named Roget. Roget the Saurus.
  11. You have an unnatural affection for lists. More than just clicking on Buzz Feed and Huff Post list links, even though the topic doesn’t interest you in the slightest. I mean really unhealthy to the point you begin viewing the physical world as a series of lists.
  12. Despite the internet and the built-in spelling/grammar tools in your word processing program(s), you still own a hard copy dictionary and thesaurus, and possibly a set of encyclopedias.
  13. Your blog contains several posts that will forever remain drafts because they’re either too brilliant or too frightening to share with anyone. The outside world would never understand.
  14. You consider your writing to be your better half.
  15. And finally, you might be a writer if you write, edit, rewrite, edit and finally delete emails to friends and family constantly because you’ve played the entire conversation of their response in your head and didn’t like the way it ended.

Sally forth and be writeful.

— Rhyan Scorpio-Rhys

Writing Joke of the Day: Comforting a Grammar Nazi

Q: What do you say when you are comforting a grammar nazi?
A: There, Their, They’re

English Professor

“In English,” he said, “A double negative forms a positive. In some languages, though, such as Russian, a double negative is still a negative. However, there is no language wherein a double positive can form a negative.”

A voice from the back of the room piped up, “Yeah, right.”

Library

A Texan was visiting Harvard University, and was lost. He stopped a student and asked, “Do you know where the library is at?”

“I sure do,” replied the student, “But, you know, you’re not supposed to end sentences with prepositions.”

“What?”

“Prepositions. You ended your sentence with an ‘at’, which you aren’t supposed to do.”

“Oh, ok,” said the Texan, “Do you know where the library is at, asshole?”

Grammar walks into a Bar

Three intransitive verbs walk into a bar. They sit. They Drink. They Leave

A comma splice walks into a bar, it has a drink and then leaves.

A dangling modifier walks into a bar. After finishing a drink, the bartender asks it to leave.

A Question mark walks into a bar?

Two Quotation marks “walk into” a bar.

A gerund and an infinitive walk into a bar, drinking a drink.

The bar was walked into by the passive voice.

The past, the present, and the future walked into a bar. It was tense.

A synonym ambles into a pub.

A gerund and an infinitive walk into a bar, drinking to drink.

A hyperbole totally ripped into this bar and destroyed everything.

A run on sentence walks into a bar it is thirsty.

Falling slowly, softly falling, the chiasmus collapsed to the bar floor.

A group of homophones wok inn two a bar.

Panda

A panda walks into a cafe. He orders a sandwich, eats it, then draws a gun and fires two shots in the air.

“Why?” asks the confused waiter, as the panda makes towards the exit. The panda produces a badly punctuated wildlife manual and tosses it over his shoulder.

“I’m a panda,” he says at the door. “Look it up.”

The waiter turns to the relevant entry and, sure enough, finds an explanation.

“Panda. Large black-and-white bear-like mammal, native to China. Eats, shoots and leaves.”

Writing Joke of the Day: Heaven or Hell?

A writer died and was given the option of going to heaven or hell.

She decided to check out each place first. As the writer descended into the fiery pits, she saw row upon row of writers chained to their desks in a steaming sweatshop. As they worked, they were repeatedly whipped with thorny lashes.

“Oh my,” said the writer. “Let me see heaven now.”

A few moments later, as she ascended into heaven, she saw rows of writers, chained to their desks in a steaming sweatshop. As they worked, they, too, were whipped with thorny lashes.

“Wait a minute,” said the writer. “This is just as bad as hell!”

“Oh no, it’s not,” replied an unseen voice. “Here, your work gets published.”

Writing Joke of the Day: Change a light bulb

How many screenwriters does it take to change a light bulb?

Answer:  Ten.

1st draft:  Hero changes light bulb.
2nd draft:  Villain changes light bulb.
3rd draft:  Hero stops villain from changing light bulb.  Villain falls to death.
4th draft:  Lose the light bulb.
5th draft:  Light bulb back in.  Fluorescent instead of tungsten.
6th draft:  Villain breaks bulb, uses it to kill hero’s mentor.
7th draft:  Fluorescent not working.  Back to tungsten.
8th draft:  Hero forces villain to eat light bulb.
9th draft:  Hero laments loss of light bulb.  Doesn’t change it.
10th draft:  Hero changes light bulb.

How many science fiction writers does it take to change a light bulb? 

Two, but it’s actually the same person doing it. He went back in time and met himself in the doorway and then the first one sat on the other one’s shoulder so that they were able to reach it. Then a major time paradox occurred and the entire room, light bulb, changer and all was blown out of existence. They co-existed in a parallel universe, though.

How many publishers does it take to screw in a light bulb? 

Three. One to screw it in. Two to hold down the author.

How many mystery writers does it take to screw in a light bulb? 

Two.  One to screw it almost all the way in, and the other to give it a surprising twist at the end.

How many screenwriters does it take to screw in a light bulb?

Why does it *have* to be changed?

How many cover blurb writers does it take to screw in a light bulb? 

A VAST AND TEEMING HORDE STRETCHING FROM SEA TO SHINING SEA!!!!

Writing Joke of the Day: Ode to the Spell Check

Eye halve a spelling chequer
It cam with my pea sea
It plainly marques four my revue
Miss steaks eye kin knot sea.
Eye strike a key and type a word
And weight four it two say
Weather eye am wrong oar write
It shows me strait a weigh.
As soon as a mist ache is maid
It nose bee fore two long
And eye can put the error rite
Its rare lea ever wrong.
Eye have run this poem threw it
I am shore your pleased two no
Its letter perfect awl the weigh
My chequer tolled me sew!

Writing Joke of the Day: Punctuation Parable

Dear John,

I want a man who knows what love is all about. You are generous, kind, thoughtful. People who are not like you admit to being useless and inferior. You have ruined me for other men. I yearn for you. I have no feelings whatsoever when we’re apart. I can be forever happy – will you let me be yours?

Gloria

Dear John,

I want a man who knows what love is. All about you are generous, kind, thoughtful people, who are not like you. Admit to being useless and inferior. You have ruined me. For other men, I yearn. For you, I have no feelings whatsoever. When we’re apart, I can be forever happy. Will you let me be?

Yours,

Gloria

Writing Joke of the Day: How to Write Good (Extended Version)

https://i0.wp.com/lolsnaps.com/upload_pic/ImportantWritingTips-24246.jpeg

1. Avoid alliteration. Always.

2. Never use a long word when a diminutive one will do.

3. Employ the vernacular.

4. Eschew ampersands & abbreviations, etc.

5. Parenthetical remarks (however relevant) are unnecessary.

6. Remember to never split an infinitive.

7. Contractions aren’t necessary.

8. Foreign words and phrases are not apropos.

9. One should never generalize.

10. Eliminate quotations. As Ralph Waldo Emerson said, “I hate quotations. Tell me what you know.”

11. Comparisons are as bad as cliches.

12. Don’t be redundant; don’t use more words than necessary; it’s highly superfluous.

13. Be more or less specific.

14. Understatement is always best.

15. One-word sentences? Eliminate.

16. Analogies in writing are like feathers on a snake.

17. The passive voice is to be avoided.

18. Go around the barn at high noon to avoid colloquialisms.

19. Even if a mixed metaphor sings, it should be derailed.

20. Who needs rhetorical questions?

21. Exaggeration is a billion times worse than understatement.

22. Don’t never use a double negation.

23. capitalize every sentence and remember always end it with point

24. Do not put statements in the negative form.

25. Verbs have to agree with their subjects.

26. Proofread carefully to see if you words out.

27. If you reread your work, you can find on rereading a great deal of repetition can be avoided by rereading and editing.

28. A writer must not shift your point of view.

29. And don’t start a sentence with a conjunction. (Remember, too, a preposition is a terrible word to end a sentence with.)

30. Don’t overuse exclamation marks!!

31. Place pronouns as close as possible, especially in long sentences, as of 10 or more words, to the irantecedents.

32. Writing carefully, dangling participles must be avoided.

33. If any word is improper at the end of a sentence, a linking verb is.

34. Take the bull by the hand and avoid mixing metaphors.

35. Avoid trendy locutions that sound flaky.

36. Everyone should be careful to use a singular pronoun with singular nouns in their writing.

37. Always pick on the correct idiom.

38. The adverb always follows the verb.

39. Last but not least, avoid cliches like the plague; They’re old hat; seek viable alternatives.

No Such Creature As A Bad Analogy (only funny ones)

“Analogies prove nothing, that is true, but they can make one feel more at home.” —–  Sigmund Freud

Normally I shy away from passing on emails and memes, but this one struck me as funny, so I decided to share it. As I’m sure you’re all aware, an analogy is a comparison between two things, typically on the basis of their structure, as a bridge between familiar situations and new ones.

The following list of analogies was allegedly collected by real high school English teachers from their students’ writings.

  1. Her face was a perfect oval, like a circle that had its two sides gently compressed by a ThighMaster.
  2. His thoughts tumbled in his head, making and breaking alliances like underpants in a dryer without Cling Free.
  3. He spoke with the wisdom that can only come from experience, like a guy who went blind because he looked at a solar eclipse without one of those boxes with a pinhole in it and now goes around the country speaking at high schools about the dangers of looking at a solar eclipse without one of those boxes with a pinhole in it.
  4. She grew on him like she was a colony of E. Coli, and he was room-temperature Canadian beef.
  5. She had a deep, throaty, genuine laugh, like that sound a dog makes just before it throws up.
  6. Her vocabulary was as bad as, like, whatever.
  7. He was as tall as a six-foot, three-inch tree.
  8. The revelation that his marriage of 30 years had disintegrated because of his wife’s infidelity came as a rude shock, like a surcharge at a formerly surcharge-free ATM machine.
  9. The little boat gently drifted across the pond exactly the way a bowling ball wouldn’t.
  10. McBride fell 12 stories, hitting the pavement like a Hefty bag filled with vegetable soup.
  11. From the attic came an unearthly howl. The whole scene had an eerie, surreal quality, like when you’re on vacation in another city and Jeopardy comes on at 7:00 p.m. instead of 7:30.
  12. Her hair glistened in the rain like a nose hair after a sneeze.
  13. The hailstones leaped from the pavement, just like maggots when you fry them in hot grease.
  14. Long separated by cruel fate, the star-crossed lovers raced across the grassy field toward each other like two freight trains, one having left Cleveland at 6:36 p.m. traveling at 55 mph, the other from Topeka at 4:19 p.m. at a speed of 35 mph.
  15. They lived in a typical suburban neighborhood with picket fences that resembled Nancy Kerrigan’s teeth.
  16. John and Mary had never met. They were like two hummingbirds who had also never met.
  17. He fell for her like his heart was a mob informant, and she was the East River.
  18. Even in his last years, Granddad had a mind like a steel trap, only one that had been left out so long it had rusted shut.
  19. Shots rang out, as shots are wont to do.
  20. The plan was simple, like my brother-in-law Phil. But unlike Phil, this plan just might work.
  21. The young fighter had a hungry look, the kind you get from not eating for a while.
  22. He was as lame as a duck. Not the metaphorical lame duck, either, but a real duck that was actually lame, maybe from stepping on a land mine or something.
  23. The ballerina rose gracefully en Pointe and extended one slender leg behind her, like a dog at a fire hydrant.
  24. It was an American tradition, like fathers chasing kids around with power tools.
  25. He was deeply in love. When she spoke, he thought he heard bells, as if she were a garbage truck backing up.

Sally forth and be writeful.

— Rhyan Scorpio-Rhys