I wonder if Hemingway had to help his kids write book reports...

Being a writer has many perks. 

I have an instant escape vehicle that transports me to faraway places without having to leave the safety of my bed…or my pajamas.  I can engage in adventures that I would never be brave enough—or foolish enough—to engage in within the boundaries of the real world.  And I can be anyone I want to be—from the heroine to the villain. 

But being a writer is not without its drawbacks. 

When you are a writer, everyone wants you to help them with their research papers…essays…or dissertations.  The thing is…I really don’t mind helping.  In fact, I like it.  It makes me feel useful.  Needed.  If I was a mechanic they would ask me to change their oil, so proofreading or helping them write a paper is much easier…and cleaner. 

Until they assume that I will write the whole thing. 

And hey…my days of having to do homework are long past me.  I don’t want to research a paper.  I don’t want to read a boring book and then do a report on the contents.  Especially when I can’t take credit for the A. 

Then again…once I get started, I can’t stop myself.  The writer in me takes over.  I start to get excited about the topic.  I suddenly feel the need to make everything sound perfect.  And I’m hooked!  They’ve got me…and the perfect paper begins to take shape.

And I still can’t take credit when I get an A. 

Oh well…I suppose I should just stick to creating interesting characters…and writing blogs. 

And maybe the occasional research paper here and there.  You know…just because…

Until the next time…I’ll be working on a little romantic comedy for a change.

Copyright © 2000-2018, Erica Lucke Dean. All rights reserved. Any retranscription or reproduction is prohibited and illegal.
Posted on October 13, 2010 .