The Glamorous Life of a Writer (Spoiler: It’s Mostly Snacks and Existential Crises)

Ah, the writer’s life. People think it’s all vintage typewriters, bookshelves overflowing with all the classics, and sipping overpriced coffee while typing profound thoughts that will someday change the world.

Let me tell you the truth.

It’s mostly staring at a blinking cursor while wondering if “the” is really the right word.

Morning Routine: The Fantasy vs. Reality

Fantasy: Wake up at 6 a.m., do yoga, make a green smoothie, then write 2,000 brilliant words by noon.

Reality: Okay, I still wake up at 6 a.m. because, well I don’t know why. My body just thinks it’s time to get up. Roll out of bed, scroll through Instagram for “inspiration,” and not get jealous of all the other writers out there and their amazing journeys. Try not to look at the news, play a game (or 3) of solitaire, and then open a blank document just to immediately close it and make a third cup of coffee. This is called warming up the brain. (It never works.)

Writing Process: A Haunting Tale

People often ask, “Where do you get your ideas?”

From stress. And snacks. And that random co-worker whose behavior is constant fodder.

Here’s a behind-the-scenes look at a typical writing session:

1. Open document.
2. Type one sentence.
3. Delete it.
4. Google ‘how to write good’ just to make sure you haven’t forgotten.
5. Check email. Check weather. Check fridge.
6. Wonder if becoming a professional panda cuddler is still an option.
7. Remember deadline. Panic. Write 1,000 words in a fugue state.
8. Reread. Cry. Edit. Cry again.
9. Submit. Hope no one reads it.
10. Repeat.

Writer’s Block: AKA The Void

Writer’s block isn’t a block—it’s an entire wall. A wall made of doubt, self-loathing, and yesterday’s pizza boxes. You sit down to write something meaningful, and suddenly you forget how language works.

You stare at the keyboard like it’s a foreign object. You try to write, but every sentence reads like it was translated from another language by a toaster.

Somehow you end up writing an 800-word rant about your printer.

You publish it anyway.

Editing: The Art of Hating Your Past Self

Editing your own writing is like reading a diary from middle school—you’re horrified, confused, and constantly asking, “Why did I think this was a good idea?”

You slash whole paragraphs. You rewrite one sentence seventeen times and still hate it. Eventually, you give up and replace it with a vague metaphor that sort of sounds deep if you squint.

“Time is a river of uncertain punctuation.” Perfect. Nailed it.

Social Life: Or, Lack Thereof

Writers have friends. Probably. Somewhere. The real social life is talking to fictional characters who live in your brain and won’t stop arguing about the plot twist you didn’t plan.

Actual interaction with humans often goes like this:

Friend: “So, what’s your book about?”

Writer: “It’s hard to explain, but imagine if Kafka met ‘The Office’ and they had an existentially humorous love child during a power outage—never mind, it’s about a depressed raccoon. Please stop asking.”

The Payoff: A Moment of Glory

And then, against all odds, a miracle happens. Someone reads your work and says, “Hey, that was pretty good.”

You cry. You dance. You eat celebratory snacks. You feel like a god.

Then you remember the next deadline.

And the cycle begins again.

Being a writer isn’t glamorous. It’s messy, chaotic, and full of self-doubt. But it’s also weirdly magical—because somewhere in all that mess, you get to tell stories that mean something.

Or at the very least, make someone laugh while reading about your nervous breakdown at Starbucks.

And that, friends, is the dream.