Doomed to be a Writer
August 24, 2011 
15 Comments
Actually, it wasn’t a book that made me realize I was doomed to be a writer. It was a movie about a writer and her book, and that movie was called Stranger Than Fiction. (First of all, before I can do anything else, I have to just say that I double-glitter-heart Emma, Will and Maggie in this flick.)
Now that that’s taken care of…
I first saw Stranger Than Fiction on DVD. It was 2006. I was in college pursuing my kick-ass degree in English and warding off evildoers who kept asking me if I planned to teach once I graduated. Also, my husband—now ex-husband [pause for brief repulsive shudder]—was simultaneously harping on me about how he paid the mortgage. So to shut him up, I took two part-time jobs. The first job, working the front desk at a psychiatric clinic, is mostly irrelevant to this story. But the second job? Oh, baby. That’s where the writing doom starts.
I replied to an anonymous, online advertisement. Apparently, there was a writer in Indianapolis who needed an assistant. During a phone interview, as he was describing the nature of the job, I remember this author saying to me, “I need someone kind of like Queen Latifah from that movie. What is it?”
Dude, I’ve totally got this one, I thought to myself. “Stranger Than Fiction!”
“Yeah, that one,” he said.
Short story shorter, I got the job and started working for a YA fiction writer. Before my first day, though, I was sure to watch the movie one more time. You know, just to make sure I was totally grasping how bleeping glamorous my new position was going to be.
The second time through the movie I caught all the awesome bits I’d missed the first time through, and I was totally non-sexual crushing on Emma Thompson as Karen Eiffel. I wanted to be her. I wanted to agonize over killing off such a lovable character. I wanted to smoke a cigarette in the rain while my own assistant held my umbrella. I wanted to use a typewriter.
Now this is the part where you probably expect me to tell you how the writer’s assistant job wasn’t really glamorous at all, and then say, “But, hey, I learned a lot.” You expect me to drone on about how all I did was buy lattés and run ridiculous errands for a crabby author who verbally berated me. Sorry. Not gonna happen.
It was glamorous working for @realjohngreen. (Total name-drop*, I know!) I mean, what’s not absolutely fantastic about working one day a week from 8 a.m. until 2 p.m? What’s not to love about getting paid real money to read an unpublished Paper Towns manuscript four or five times before the rest of the world gets to see it? And now, when I’m at those awkward professional workshops where the moderator forces everyone to share something unusual about themselves, I can totally say, “John Green’s puppy once chewed my shoelaces.”
But, hey, I did learn a lot! While Stranger Than Fiction taught me that I was doomed to be a writer, working for John taught me that I was definitely doomed to be a writer.
*I try not to be one of those fans, but I am a fan. And that total this-guy-is-a-good-human-being vibe that people get from watching vlogbrother videos? That’s because he actually is a good human being. (Now, support a good human being and go buy one of his books.)
