November 01, 2006

I am a beautiful butterfly

After spending a year sitting transfixed in front of the cold glow of a computer screen, tirelessly working on Lick Your Neighbor, with almost no contact with the outside world, I recently looked up from my laptop after typing "The End" and found that I have let myself go in so many ways.

Besides the obvious change that my biceps, once the size of cantalopes, were now the size of lemons, I glanced into the bathroom mirror and this is what I saw looking back at me:

I have become a recluse, and a freakish one at that. Physically and emotionally I am a wreck. This is what happens when you focus on one thing for so long and neglect all of the little things in life. Things like clipping your finger nails, eating solid foods, blinking, moving, talking, showering, and sleeping.

I think that a big part of the problem is something simple: my posture. When I'm writing it's awful, I look like a hunchback. I think that putting my body into such an uncomfortable position, for so long, affects my mind and body in profoundly negative ways.

According to the National Association of Spinacologists, this is the proper posture one should maintain while at a computer:

When I see someone sitting like that, with their back straight as an arrow, I think, "Now there's a nice young man. Maybe I'll go over and pat him on the back or give him some candy."

A lot of people have a romanticized view of the writing life. When they think of their favorite author, pecking away at a typewriter, they think of pipe-smoking chaps like this:

Or they think of someone like George Orwell, dressed in a goddamn suit with a friggin handkerchief in his pocket:

I look NOTHING like that when I write. Here's an actual photo of me taken while I was working on Lick Your Neighbor:

Now, would you ever pat something like that on the back and say "Keep up the good work, buddy?" Would you offer him some candy? Would you smile at him? No. Nor should you. You should slowly back away from someone who looks like that and at some point turn and run like hell.

About three months ago, while I was in the middle of writing a tricky chapter, a cute little four year-old girl came skipping up to me at my desk and offered me a kiss on the cheek. This is the look I gave her:

And then just last week, as I was racing against fatigue and an approaching meltdown to complete the book's final chapter, a Scandinavian milkmaid came over to me and asked if I wanted a backrub.

She even had that bucket of milk with her, which she seductively poured between her legs, as all milkmaids are want to do.

This is how I responded:

So as you can see...writing novels seriously affects my temperment and judgement. It makes me a mean, nasty person to be around. So now that I'm done with the book, my goal over the next few months, while I take a break from writing, is to get my mind and body back on track. It's time to come out of my lunatic hermit cocoon and become the beautiful butterfly of a human being I know I can be.

By Christmas morning, if you bump into me on the street, this is what you'll get:

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