I love my friends, I really do. They are amazing people who will be there for you no matter what. Car trouble? They’ll give you a ride. Need to vent about a significant other, no problem. Out of toilet paper? Sure borrow a roll. AC out and need a pool? Come on over! (Remember we’re in Florida, no AC in the summer is the equivalent of walking through a steaming desert.) Anyways, the point is, they are awesome, smart, hardworking people. Totally amazeballs.
When it comes to me though…
They don’t get it.
My friends aren’t readers, writers, or otherwise literary inclined people. That’s not to say they’re not creative. They are, just not in the literary and writing world.
That’s not to say my friends exclude me, but most of the stuff they talk about, I get, but I can’t talk to them about the stuff I like, because they don’t get it. I can’t talk to them about a new book I read, or an author I interviewed.
There’s the generic “How’s the book going?”
To which I reply. “I’m still in edits, trying to get this done by that time.”
“That’s cool. Did you hear about x, y, and z?”
Most days, I can handle that. I can handle the fact that the people I know in real life don’t get it because I have a wonderful online support group of writer friends, CP partners, and generally awesome people who DO get it. It sucks that I don’t know anyone in my area. There’s no one I can call up and say, “Hey let’s go and have some coffee and talk about why we want to burn our MS.” Or ya know, drink a fifth of whiskey with. It’d be nice to be able to do that, but again, most days I’m okay with the world of my real life friends who don’t understand my writing and my online friends who are so amazing supportive in it.
However, sometimes, I think the ‘they don’t get it’ part extends to, ‘they don’t think this is a real career’.
I’ve been ambushed three times now, when I’ve specifically stated, don’t bother me, I’m going to be working. Now, so as not to be rude, when people show up, I interact. I’m screaming with rage on the inside, but I’m nice and talk to them, and then I’m like, “Well okay, I have work to do.” Which doesn’t seem to do anything.
I’m just like….
All righty then, we’ll continue the conversation anyway.
I’m not writing this post to offend any of my friends. Hell, not even really sure if any of them read my blog. Which is fine, again they’re not into this stuff. I’m doing it because I think it needs to be clarified:
This is my LIFE. This is what I want to DO. While it may seem trivial and whatever to other people who aren’t into the literary scene, it’s important to me. It’s honestly getting to the point where I might start telling people off. Which in turn will distance my real life friends. Which, ya know, is generally what happens in my life because they DON’T understand that I’m not trying to push them away, but this is what my career entails.
I will go underground for a weekend without answering texts, especially when, like this weekend, I have edits, writing, and seven papers for four different classes to do. (Last three weeks of class)
It’s ALOT of work, and I don’t mind. I’m not complaining about the work. I love the editing, writing, and okay, I could do without the academic papers for class, but again, gotta put in the work to achieve my goals, so that’s fine.
What I do mind is people, who are supposed to be my friends, not taking what I want to do seriously and making me feel like it doesn’t matter to them. It’s frustrating, because it feels like, other than my immediate family, I don’t have anyone’s support and it…well it sucks.
Not one of my friends have read my book. One asked to read something, so I sent him a short story. He liked it, and that was the end of that, but at least he offered and tried.
So, I guess it just sucks when it feels like you have no one in your real life that you can sit down and talk to about this stuff, because either A.) they don’t seem to care or B.) they don’t get it.
Or maybe I’m just frustrated and talking out my ass. Yeah, that’s probably it.