talk about dicks

This post belongs to a series of posts that I've recently worked on. You probably have the idea on what the central theme is. And it is very narcissistic and selfish.

Writers have the egos of small children when they are compared with other writers of greater or equal talent and exposure. Sometimes the measure is not in the volume of the pages sifted by the audience but by notoriety, fame and even controversy. They claw and boast that their castles are bigger, more fortified, more grandeur than others’. They explain in terms that only they understand and at the end of the play day they just leave their tiny big forts there to crumble only to be built up from make shift foundations for show and tell time on another day.

Then, there is the intro of the ego of adults that when they meet people, actual people of age and even preference or standpoint that they find attractive or seek attention from, they all act simple and human to the point of low. 

They want to be seen as someone who they are. They want people to like what they like, have the same traits, have the same tastes in wine, coffee and genres of reading. Not to the point of leagues-deep of literary understanding and interpretation – it is one thing that all writers take pride in: their ability to make sure that no other lesser writer can match the depth at which they understand literature.

They want the feeling that people do when they think that they are reading their selves in a novel. I am that character. I’m a secret misogynist who pretends I love women and their rights but I only want them for their physicality. I am that great musician who takes pride in my level of artistry. I am that handy man who is totally ripped and scarred by life but is gentle once you get to know me and notice the dimples at my back. I am that woman who is nothing but independent and success-driven and yet I melt at the image of a cuddle in bed weather days. 

They want that flattery because they know that they can deliver it in ways that will keep people up for nights without end. They are asshole sweet talkers and they want to be sweet talked in a way that is not asskissing but romantic and totally blunt and hurtful in perfect harmony.

To say all those things is very cruel. Yes, but the writer levels him/herself to the point as humanly possible to show that they, too are products of small egos. They want to be loved for who and what they are, but they want it done their own way.

Well, that’s that. It’s a stereotype deconstruction of a stereotype that we call “writers.” Dicks.