You know you're a writer when:
1. "After I Make it Big in Publishing" is the title of your most important wish list.
1. Buy Porsche. 2. Get tummy tuck. 3. Acquire mute Swedish mistress.
2. Anyone who screws up the title of your novel is immediately labeled an idiot, pretty much forever.
It's StarDoc. Not Space Doc, not Starbuck, not Star Rock, and certainly not Space Balls. Moron.
2a. You have screwed up the title of another writer's novel.
Douglas Clegg and Kris Reisz were very nice about it, though.
3. At some point in your relationship you've called your significant other by a character name.
Oh, yes, Jack, yes, oh God, that's so good baby I love you so much Jack I need y-- hey, Harold honey, where are you going?
4. Every member of your family has at least one manuscript copy of your first finished novel. Your mother still brings it out like a newborn grandchild to show relatives visiting from out of town.
Here, be careful when you hold it -- it weighs seven pounds, can you believe that? And there's typing on every single one of those pages!
5. People who don't own any books confuse you.
And you mean you're really not blind, dyslexic, or allergic to spine glue?
6. Sean Lindsay can't piss you off.
Oh, he's talking about all those poser writers, not me, heh heh heh.
6a. Sean Lindsay has pissed you off.
I know he's talking about me this time. Bastard.
7. You use character and plot problems as an excuse for messing up in real life.
Darling, I know that I burned dinner, but Alexandra had to perform a major reattachment surgery with a pocket sewing kit, a bottle of Merlot and a couple of votive candles while she told Michael the big you-know-what.
8. Your favorite joke is the one about Dan Brown, Stephen King, James Patterson or J.K. Rowling.
Okay, so Dan Brown is stranded in the desert, and the camel dealer won't take credit cards, so he trades a copy of The DaVinci Code for his cheapest camel, and then . . .
9. Your office trash can is overflowing with crumpled-ball versions of the following: the bestseller lists from the last six Sunday papers, nineteen drafts of your latest query letter, and forty-two copies of the first page of your WIP, all of which have three lines or less printed on them.
One more time. Okay. It was a dark and stormy . . . Gaaaa!
10. You've no problem adding something to this list in comments.