We writers are peculiar folk. In fact, artists of all kind seem to have idiosyncratic habits and traits that make some people nod and say "yeah, I know what that's like" and others shake their heads and think "what is wrong with that guy?". Creativity is in the eye of the beholder apparently.
I have a few of these idiosyncratic behaviors or so it would seem to the uncreative eye. I like chedder cheese dipped in ketchup and am terrified of balloons, King Kong, bank tellers (so I always use the drive-through), and clowns. Yikes. Clowns are scary stuff. Really. Also, I would sooner invite the public to watch me shower than discuss my work with strangers or let anyone read a work in progress. It's just unnatural! What I write is my business.
Case in point -- A librarian this morning commented that I'd been missing for a week or so and said it was good to see me. I shouldn't have told her that I'd been busy writing because her natural response was "Oh, really? What kind of writing do you do?" Argghh. I really wanted to say, "None of your busybody business. I'm not here to chit chat, make friends, buy cosmetics from you, or apply for a job. Please just scan my card, give me my stinkin' books, and let me get to the bank so I can be first in line when the drive through opens!"
But, I smiled and instead of saying any of that, my answer to "Oh really, what kind of writing do you do?" was a very simple.... "very good writing, thank you." Did she take it lying down? No.
Some time while I wasn't looking, that crafty woman must have dialed the bat phone under her desk and notified the whole library that an idiosyncratic writer with an attitude problem was up front because directly behind me arrived a man checking out a VHS. What tape? Well, on the cover was King Kong and Fay Wray! Gasp! This was a sign of a very bad day.
I immediately realized I should have been nicer to that library lady. Providence was ticked off. I smiled sweetly, bid her have a nice day, and prayed that I had redeemed myself before any other calamity befell me. I was wrong.
As I darted through the metal detector, I bumped right into ...yikes, a clown! He had white paint, green circles on his cheeks, and either painted his teeth yellow or missed his last few dental appointments. I took two careful steps backward, moved to the left and proceeded cautiously to door. Then you know what that maniac did? He tried to give me a balloon! Aaaaaaaccckkkkkk!
I dropped my books and ran out into the parking lot screaming like a schoolyard sissy. I guess sooner or later, I ought to go back and see what became of my books. That clown probably stole them and I will have a hefty fine to pay. You know what that means? Another trip to the bank...
Note to reader: I used a picture of Fay Wray without King Kong because I don't want to to wet my chair.