Don't Answer the Phone

When I was fifteen or sixteen, I used to rent slasher flicks or go to them with my boyfriend. I have no idea why I liked getting scared out of my mind--and of course, now, in hindsight, I realize the movies weren't even all that scary--they were more gore than suspense. But I got scared and hid my eyes anyway. And in just about EVERY slasher flick, there is a scene where you want to scream, "Don't go into the house!" or "Turn on the light!" or "Don't answer the phone!"

Well, I must have taken that to heart because I never answer the phone. Ever. It drives my significant other nuts. It will ring . . . and ring . . . and I am not usually even motivated to look at Caller I.D. And if I do look at Caller I.D., if I don't recognize the number, there is no way in hell I am answering. In general, I answer for Mom, my agent, my best friend, the kids. I'll answer for school, but those are never good calls--either someone threw up and needs to be retrieved or someone is in trouble. Teachers never call to say, "Wow, your kid is great." (Though they do send home notes saying that, which is nice.)

I don't think it's actually a vestige of slasher flicks . . . but it is a quirk about being a writer. I don't like to talk, to break my mood. I like being left alone. Needless to say, it's no small wonder why I don't work in corporate America. I like solitude.

Other quirks? I hate using the mouse. I would rather hit backspace a thousand times than move the mouse and correct a single letter. So, yeah, I will retype whole sentences if a letter is wrong at the beginning of the sentence, rather than move my right hand over to the mouse.

I have to have my iPod on. I put it on shuffle . . . and see what comes out of the stereo (I have a docking station). I have DAYS worth of music, so it could be Beck, Arcade Fire, the new Annie Lennox, or Alexandre Desplat. Pretty broad variety. It could be Sarah Vaughn, Django Reinhart . . . or Kanye West. And without music I just tend to find myself staring at my beta fish. Her name is Blossom and she's lived a really long time for a fish. Either that or my significant other is buying beta fish and replacing the dead ones so that I don't get sad.

Other writer quirks in my day? I usually have candles lit--reminds me to pray.

I usually check CNN in certain un-Buddhist-like hopes that a certain politician will be felled by food poisoning. No such luck. I can check CNN twice an hour. I never used to, but post-9/11, I guess I feel the world is more volatile. So I check the headlines . . . and then go back to writing.

I drink water. Not soda. Or I will drink tea or coffee--but I never--EVER--finish tea or coffee, and usually have to go for a re-heat in the microwave--after which I might have one more sip anyway. I like my liquids hot enough to burn the roof of my mouth.

My writing snacks? Yogurt. String cheese. Granola. Steamed rice. I don't eat junk.

I blog hop when I want to procrastinate about writing. Or when I have no inspiration.

I used to write in my pjs, but now I get dressed because otherwise, I just feel like a slob. I keep thinking I am going to go buy stylish track suits of some sort so that I can dress in that and be comfortable--but I never do. So it's jeans . . .

My watch, my clock, and my computer clock are on three different times. I still look at the clock, though it's off by more than an hour (will be more on time when Daylight Savings is over). I never look at my watch. I often look at the little numbers on my computer screen. Then I mentally calculate how much longer I have to write before all four kids are here and the house is noisy.

I check craigslist a LOT. I don't know why. I check "Pets" but I have enough pets (though I recently acquired a new baby lovebird named Sweet Pea on craigslist . . . she was free). I also hired a handyman who is doing the mile-long list of home projects the man I live with would take three years to get to--if EVER. Maybe I should marry a handyman next time I walk down the aisle. But then he'd probably fix other people's houses and STILL not fix mine, so what the hell. I also got a couple of freelance writing jobs that way.

When the mailman comes, I race out there. It's the one time I get up from my desk. I wait until he pulls away, though, because I think he's kind of creepy. Unless it's the lady mailperson, because she is actually very friendly and nice. I RARELY have good mail--all bills. But I am always looking for checks--the life of a non-nine-to-fiver who relies on advances and royalties and freelance.

I have pets so that I don't feel alone. But then go back to the Don't Answer the Phone thing--I like being alone/solitude/not talking. But the dogs and fish and birds don't count--I talk to them, but as of yet, they haven't talked back. I also have a python. She doesn't count either. I hate her--and never talk to her. I think she KNOWS I don't like her and is just waiting to bite me. She creeps me out. Oldest son loves her. He also has a newfound love of tattoos (though he is too young to get one . . . I also think when he finds out needles are involved that will end the fascination, but one never knows).

Anyway . . . no phone, talking to the dogs, racing to get mail . . . those are some of my writerly quirks. How about you?