Originally published in X It Out (my zine), issue #3, "A Salute to the Arts," Sept.-Oct. 1986. One of those evergreen pieces, I think, except for the references to typewriter ribbons and Liquid Paper (two of several things I don't miss about the '80s).

Writing It Off

by Wes Eichenwald
Special to X It Out

Hello. I'm a writer. Yoo-hoo! Someone's out there typing on a machine. A real person but also a writer type. Typing.

I have a love-hate relationship with my Writing Persona. Sometimes I get sick of the ever-maddening thing because of its inability to really change anything, even itself/me. But I keep writing, because I have to. What else am I going to do? Fill molars? Come on.

I think of writing as sending out messages over the Publication Waves to people I know, used to know, will soon know, will never know...Saying "Hi, here I am, I'm writing about all kinds of stuff...hope you're doing OK...I'm nothing like this in person."

Writers are supposed to represent the public - to stand in for the Average Person. The only problem is, we're not average people. Average people don't write for publication. So the only way a writer can be an average person is, to not write. But if every writer did that, there would be nothing new to read.

This will be called the Average Person Paradox, or APP. (One of the reasons so many writers seem so nervous is that they are fully aware of the APP, or at least subliminally suspect it, because most writers are not dumb. Paranoid, maybe, but not dumb. If writers are paranoid, they generally have good reason to be.)

On the other hand, writers share many characteristics of the non-writing normal person. We go to the bathroom; we mop our floors (with varying frequency); we clear hairballs out of the drain; we break expensive crystal; we fall into and out of relationships. We just use up more typewriter ribbons and paper than you do. We're not perfect people; we don't have every thread in place; we occasionally mess up bad, just like you. We have our little triumphs, our blown-out-of-proportion tragedies. We just know how to write about them, that's all. Nyaah nyaah.

Self-expression. That's what it's all about.

Writers occupy a low spot in the social hierarchy, above actors but just below insurance claims adjusters. Like the Untouchable caste of India, they, too, deal with unclean substances (typewriter ribbons, Liquid Paper, kill fees, checks from unsavory publishers, and editors in general) and thus are only allowed to touch and be touched by other writers, the occasional managing editor, and as many college interns as logistics permit. It is an isolation at times excruciatingly hermetic - you're rarely invited to the really cool parties - but it keeps your mind sharp. If you're worth anything, you piss other people off on a regular basis, but you don't care. At least, you shouldn't. You are the Writer, the One Who Does Not Fit, and the hell with 'em all. You are the one who interprets society to itself. And God knows, it needs it.

Most writers I know are really nice guys (goes for girls, uh, females too). He's a nice guy...he's a nice guy...yeah, they're all nice guys, you could puke. Enough. You could choke on nice guys in the Boston writing world. All the not so nice guys are editors and publishers. Almost all. And I do know a few decent eds-and-pubs but well, you know what I mean...

Some writers I know seem very nervous and jittery all the time, talking a mile a minute, won't they ever shut up, like they've just drank ten cups of coffee. But maybe that's because they're hypersensitive to their surroundings, being writers and all - always wondering what details they'll end up WRITING ABOUT - and know that sooner or later, they'll spill all the beans. They can't hide anything - they're writers. I have it on personal experience - you keep revealing more and more pieces of yourself until there's no turning back - might as well let go of everything. Well, OK, not everything...

All writers lead a double life, a more or less secret off-the-page identity as a Real Person. It provides them with material to write about. Strange but true.

Hey, off the page, I'm generally a nice, normal, slightly dull guy. Some people become maniacs behind the wheel of a car. Not me. I drive safely. Hell, I even use a seat belt, that's how much of a wimp I am. But - put me behind a typewriter and I become an Avenging Lunatic, and commit indecent acts in print. Some, I'm proud of; others eventually horrify me. Sometimes I'm a jerk who needlessly offends people who deserve better (although some of them, I'm sure, deserve worse).

Some writers make careers and brilliant reputations from their ability to make even the most unimportant things seem earthshattering. Or at least make their audience think, "Hey, that writer is a little nuts. Can't wait to see what he picks to make a big deal out of next. What fun reading." (cf. sportwriters, critics, columnists.)

Some writers are so political, both on the page and off (obscuring the distinction to a repulsive degree), that even their fellow writers find them barely tolerable; and it invariably follows that in talking about themselves they're as bad as actors.

Every writer's fantasy: people reading their copy and moaning, "Ohhhhhh, that's so good..."

Telling Anecdote. Not too long ago I was sitting in the cafeteria of the Kryslur Building, where I work, busily revising some copy (not this) over coffee and cookies. A strange woman approached and said, "Excuse me, are you a freelance writer?"

"Oh, my God, does it show?" I responded.

"A lot of my friends are," she explained. For the signs were plain - "The chocolate, the caffeine," she explained, "plus, nobody else I know writes notes in the margins of newspapers."

True, all true. Coffee in styrofoam cup; nibbling away at a clutch of Girl Scouts Thin Mints; scribbling derisive comments in the margins of the Globe Calendar. Pathetically obvious.

"What's your name? Who do you write for? I'll look for your byline."

I struggled to remember.