Advice

11 Reasons Why You Should Date A Writer

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Dating a writer doesn’t quite have the cool factor of dating, say, a musician. And it’s hard to brag about dating a writer unless they’re a New York Times bestseller and even then, Mrs. Dan Brown doesn’t have the same cachet as Mrs. David Beckham (or Mr. Posh Spice). Writers have a bit of an image problem: they’re all supposedly broke, mentally unsound, and constantly drunk. I’m here to argue that’s exactly why you should date my fellow writers.

We’ll make you smarter. You need subway reading? Please, choose from any of the 300 books that are littered around our apartment in lieu of actual furniture or décor. You need a distraction from work? Let us know and we’ll send you a barrage of links to all the best articles we read today. You’re welcome.

We have cool friends. Creative people tend to cling to each other like life-rafts in a capitalistic world that doesn’t understand our vision, man. If you’re dating a writer, odds are that they’re friends with a whole host of other writers, musicians, photographers, visual artists, actors, and other wonderful freaks. Know who doesn’t have great stories about music festivals in Poland or crashing that really Twitter famous dude’s party? Us either, because we don’t hang out with boring people.

We tell great stories. All writing is really storytelling, and most writers naturally apply this to everything that happens to them. We also are all afflicted with a disease called “I did it for the story,” where we do incredibly dumb things because we suspect we’ll get a good story out of it. This often includes crazy sex stuff. You wanna be part of that story, don’t you?

We can drink you under the table. The stereotype that all writers are shameless boozehounds is, um, basically true. A recent informal Twitter study by a music journalist pal found that almost all of us drink while writing – just a beer or two, usually, “not like, Bukowski drunk.” And that’s when we’re trying to work, so just imagine our weekends. Have you ever gone out with a lightweight and then been embarrassed by their slurred speech and swaying legs around your friends? Not writers. We bring our hollow legs with us wherever we go.

We’re opinionated. If we’re writing in a public forum instead of our journal, it’s because we have an opinion that we think is important enough to tell everyone about. That’s amplified a thousand percent in person, where we’re not trying to present a balanced viewpoint for a certain audience or having the more passionate parts of our screeds cut out by editors. (It’s for our own good, we know.) This also means that we’re not going to hold back when that new facial hair you’re trying out looks really stupid. It’s for your own good.

We have great gossip. Yeah, that stuff about our cool, connected friends? We’re stashing away every juicy detail they tell us (and feeding it to Page Six in the morning). And all those hours drinking together inevitably means that someone is telling you a story prefaced with, “Don’t ever tell John I told you this, but…” So don’t be surprised if you mention anyone involved with media and we tell you that our friend used to sleep/work/tour with them, and don’t tell anyone this, but… Anyway, you’re an instant insider.

We’re in therapy. Or we once were. This doesn’t mean that we’re completely fucked up—we’re only a little bit fucked up, and in a charming way! It means that we’ve already worked through a couple of issues. We’re on a quest for self-improvement. We probably have a small pharmacy in our medicine cabinet if you can’t sleep, and we can definitely get you Adderall if you’ve got a big project at work.  Also, if we say, “I told my therapist about you,” that’s a good thing. Well, probably.

We don’t really care about money. It’s an unavoidable fact that writing gigs generally don’t pay that well, and no one becomes a writer because they want to get rich. Even those massive book deals you hear about don’t come in a lump sum, they’re distributed over years— and if you don’t sell enough copies, you gotta give that advance back! So we’re probably not going to pressure you to bring us to swanky restaurants or on fancy vacations. We know every happy hour and good cheap restaurant in a ten-block radius, but if you want to just stay in and watch Netflix tonight, that’s cool. We don’t have any money for the next week and a half anyway.

We have no secrets. Sure, plenty of writers never write about themselves. But plenty of writers write about nothing else. Most of us fall somewhere in the middle – it’s inevitable that your personal life will bleed into your work sooner or later. This means the story of our brutal mental breakdown or our complex relationship with our ex is probably just a Google away. You don’t have to guess: it’s all out there, and you can decide if you want to deal with it or not.

We keep weird hours. Want to meet for lunch? Great, we haven’t left the house in three days and could probably use some fresh air. Can’t sleep at 4 am? Come over, we’re just sitting in our bedroom, lit only by the blue glow of our laptop screen, Googling everyone from our last creative writing workshop and wondering how much they got paid for that story in The Atlantic. It’s 3 pm on Saturday and you still want to get brunch? Just call us like four times, we’ll wake up eventually.

We’re good in bed. Based on years of personal research, I feel qualified to state that writers make excellent sex partners. Writers are observant, and therefore aware of and attentive to your needs. We’re creative – if you’re sleeping with a writer, you won’t be having that boring, choreographed sex where you do the same three positions in the same order night after night. We take feedback well, so don’t be afraid to offer suggestions. And then there’s our “do anything for a story” weakness, so that fantasy you’ve never gotten to try out? Sure – as long as we can write about it. Don’t worry, we’ll change your name.

Image via Lipstick Makes Everything Better

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