I am a fussy writer. One of the fussiest you may ever have the bad fortune of meeting.
For one, I can’t write if there are people around me. I am paranoid about people looking at my works, before they are done. The unedited, raw first draft contains too much of me — it contains raw emotions, disjointed words, melodramatic and verbose phrases, and loads of scribbled over lines. Letting someone see it is like letting them see me naked. Confession: It makes me feel vulnerable.
So, writing with anyone in a two-hand distance of me is out. I spend too much time looking over my shoulder, making sure they are not peeping (even if they are not remotely interested in my work, and would really appreciate it if the constant drone of the keyboard or the scribbling, scratching nib stopped). Though I am trying to get over this pet aversion of mine, there is another fussy habit of mine that probably causes more annoyance to people, especially my family.
I can’t write with the T.V. on. I can’t write if someone is talking on the phone near me. I can’t write if someone is listening to music near me. I can’t write if there is any kind of noise around me. I need a perfectly quiet, serene environment, that is nearly impossible to achieve in a suburban family apartment.
After years of tantrums, tears and me acting the misunderstood creative genius — my family lost patience.
They bought me a laptop, and locked me in my bedroom, where I can scribble in peace, and type away to glory.