The Complete Theory Of Everything

I've always had a hostile reaction to the romantic notion that writers are supposed to 'be in love with words'. I just don't feel that emotion towards words, it's not natural and it doesn't fit, the same way I don't really find babies cute on a visceral level. Of course, you have to coo and make the right sounds when you see a baby, and when you're a writer, and someone says, "oh, so you love words then", you have to say "haha, of course...they are just so beautiful." Whilst inside I feel dead. I guess I am the writer equivalent of a sociopath. I pretend to have normal writerly emotions to words and language when secretly I want to skin them alive. Why DO writers have to be "in love" with words. I'm not. They are one of my worst enemies. They only obfuscate meaning, get in the way of truth. I only use words to make fun of them, to expose their deficiencies. You can build with them, make them do and say any...

I have heard at least one million writers say something along the following lines: "Oh my god, I was just so free when I finally realized I didn't have to write what my English teachers expected of me! Now I am writing whatever I want, and having fun doing it." And I get it. These writers are having the time of their lives writing spy novels and sci-fi thrillers and best selling romances. I am jealous that this is what they love. I tried to love it too. And I tried to write it. Boooy, did I try to write it. But where does that leave well meaning bitches like me who deep down *do* want to write the kind of stuff you get taught in literature classes? What are we supposed to rebel against? I am nothing if not a brat, and I don't want to make my old teachers happy and proud of me??? I've realized I'm going to have to rebel against rebelling. From this point onwards, I am embracing my inner literary snob, because that is where I get my jollies. That is wher...