Writers are not glamorous creatures. I don’t know who started that particular rumor.
We can create entire species, countries, worlds, out of the gray squishy bits between our ears, sure. We can bring characters to life with our imaginations, put them through hell, give them a chance at happiness, offer them roads of adventure and excitement that most people will never get a sniff of in their own lives. We can understand and twist around the psyche to explore the hidden depths and drifts of the human mind. We can even make people so invested in our creative ramblings that they forget the real world exists around them, if only for an hour or so.
But writers are not glamorous creatures.
Because while we are capable of doing everything listed above, we also find ourselves in certain situations most people are smart enough not to encounter.
Like leaving the house with your shirt on inside out (not even the first, second, or third time that’s happened) because you need coffee and coffee is across town and, honestly, most of you isn’t even present in your body because part of it is still in the dream from last night, another part is playing Fishdom puzzles, a slightly larger part is where you left off editing at 2am, and the rest of you can barely open your eyes because mornings are stupid and far too bright and 9am is waaaaay too early for functionality.
Writers are not glamorous creatures. Sometimes it’s amazing we don’t set our houses on fire trying to make cereal.