You know those warning signs you see on gates? Usually with a mean-looking dog, snarling, fangs dripping? And the bold words: BEWARE OF THE DOG? Well I think there ought to be a sign made up for writers. This sign should be placed in the back window of their car, beside the doorbell or prominently on the front gate/door and especially on the outside of what is considered their writing space. It should also be permanently tattooed on their forehead but hey – let's allow them (me) some leniency?

Writers are crazy. There. I said it. They are so crazy they will steal a line from a eulogy to use in their next chapter. Whilst the rest of the mourners are weeping, they will be repeating that line over and over to embed it in their brain, or they will quickly scribble it on the back of anything they've surreptitiously scrounged up from their bag or wallet?

They will pick a fight, just to gauge reactions, they will launch into a soliloquy in the middle of an otherwise normal conversation – because they want to test some new words? Hell, they'll ask you the most personal of questions – not out of interest or concern but because their character... well he's in the same predicament/or will be in the same predicament... and they need genuine responses?

Nothing is sacred. Nothing. Every word you say, every reaction you display, every action you take, every decision you make, they will steal. Unashamedly. With relish. They will steal and they will file away and one day, some part of you or maybe all of you will appear as a 'random' character in one of their 'plots'? Yep.

Writers are voyeurs. They will stare at everything and anything, and they will do so with piercing eyes and a rather pensive expression... thinking... thinking... can I use that couple kissing in the scene where... can I use the way he holds his coffee – how he sips with that funny sound, taking in some cold air to lessen the heat... hmmm...she looks exactly how I picture my new protagonist... except her nose is too tilted (note to self: do NOT include this nose)...

They have no shame. They will watch a couple arguing and delight in the verbal mess being created; mentally taking note of expressions and the exact positioning of expletives. Writers are like human vacuum cleaners, sucking up scenes – no matter the content, no matter the surrounds and, no matter they appear rude and unabashedly savouring even the most gruesome of sights? Everything is absorbed and filed away. They never know what will come in handy and when... so they suck up everything, just in case.

There is madness to writers. No doubt, to some degree we are all mad... mad within ourselves, mad at the world, mad at each other. Unadulterated lunacy surrounds all of us dabbling in words.

Try living with one, or maintaining any kind of relationship. You'll be out the door in no time shaking your head and promising yourself next time to ask this question first:

"Excuse me, do you write?"

"Why yes I do!"

"Nice meeting you but..." Then you run! Run!

Repeat: "Excuse me, do you write?"

"No, I don't?"

"Ah, you are sane then! Care for a coffee?" This despite any amount of psychological disorders in evidence, because let's face it; anything is more tolerable than a writer with mood swings and 'blocks' and paranoia and that incessant need to be defined by words?

As always, I will bring this convoluted waffle back to me. A few days ago, I killed a fellow writer's character. Unintentionally admittedly, but nonetheless, the poor character died. I poached him, or rather thought I was borrowing him - not knowing the person I was borrowing him from had intentions of his own for this particular character's future?

Oh the fight! Get two writers together under these circumstances and even the threat of nuclear mutually assured destruction pales into pffftt... compared with the war instigated between the two. The grudges could go on for years? And the words! Writers got words right? They can spin and manipulate and create any kind of weapon within a sentence? Else, create large chunks of silence where once words flowed easily? Ever faced the silence of a writer? If there be hell on earth, it exists somewhere within that vacant, silent space.

Then there's the ubiquitous writer's revenge? Exacting verbal vengeance or at the other extreme pouting and sooking like a baby denied its favourite treat? This inducing the adult version of lying flat in a supermarket aisle, arms and legs flailing and mouth screaming? (The second variety is where I most hang out by the way...)

Take early yesterday morning: I was ready to press send on a particular email. It went along the lines of "Nice knowing you but we are so broken, we should just quit?" Only, me being me, this translated into 2,000 words where I meticulously explained my reasoning, the facts behind my 'conclusions' and a whole heap of baby sook? It was a masterpiece! I read it several times and it just kept growing, as more and more gripes and slights surfaced justifiably (in my eyes) and added to the overall magnificence? Oh the tragedy within it all, the pain, the awful hand of Fate... yeah, I'd used everything in my arsenal.

Lo and behold, later that day, the world righted itself once more. The recipient emerged... never suspecting his near-demise, and yeah... my craziness? Now if I had pressed send, yet another war would have erupted, and a war where one writer had everything supposedly figured out in a 2,000 word expose and the other would have been plain clueless? (Oftentimes a clueless writer can be more menacing than the one armed with the expose... thus the war?)

But of course, a 'righted world' does not fodder for words provide? So I had to break it just that tiny bit again? Whinge a little you know?

Like: "...where you don't acknowledge me even when you leave a comment, like this morning... or you don't reply, even when you – never mind... Hey?"

Which of course elicited, a somewhat surprised and well-merited "So I went out of my way to leave a comment on your post this morning and I did it wrong?"

And from me? "There you go... it's clearly not working, trying to make you understand.  Sigh....................... So - take two. Hey?... since you interrupted (You know the clacker thing in the movies - before you ask what I am talking about?)"

"What are you talking about? I'm serious. Clacker thing?"

Clearly my respondent had no clue and was trying his best to follow what appeared to him like nonsensical instability, but to me was a perfectly justifiable explanation? Which of course caused me to bitch about it further?

"Now I have to go way off track and explain the explanation... YES!!!!! I said hey the first time but then you got confused? So I said hey (take two?)"

"It's called a clapper board I think?" (Poor chap had nowhere to go but set me straight on this at least?)

"Well I wasn't that much off? Clacker, clapper..."

This didn't help him obviously. "What about them?"

"NO! Nothing about them! I am trying to ask you something.... big sigh... All I did was what we usually do? When we want to ask a question? Which is usually followed by either a "yes" or a "go"??? But no, you turned it into a comedy routine!" (Who turned it into a comedy routine?)

"Take 2. Got it."

"Phewwww"

"More like take 3 now though. Lol" (Okay, he had to have his own moment of payback, after what he'd just been put through?)

"...Now I forgot what I wanted to ask." (Yes, I had.)

Who talks like this? Writers do. Because they live largely in their heads and they are under the delusion everyone else around them lives in there too? And that place in their heads is full of insecurities and doubts and questions about self-worth and... and heaped to the max with unadulterated craziness?

The moral? Try to avoid them. Read their words, laud their moments of creativity but venture further at great peril to your sanity. One writer in any kind of 'relationship' is more than any normal person can tolerate for a very short period of time. Two together? Regular spats over imagined and even manufactured slights aside, sooner or later they will kill each other. Bloody words will flow. Knives will be thrust and wounds inflicted until in the end, they will both be left speechless. That's the writer's equivalent of mortal death?

Or do your bit as concerned citizens and help enact a law such as the one I suggested above? Have them (me) all clearly surrounded by warning signs – hell even brand them (me) – if this will stop them (me) from engaging in any amount of vitriolic or otherwise... apathetic dealings with you?

And guard both your words and your sanity very, very closely. Don't let them (me) in! Else you will end up here, your words stolen and shamelessly used as fodder for another 'piece'! Lol?  

(Please take a moment to reflect on the demise of that poor character and join me in saying "May he rest in peace?" Would be greatly appreciated and may even somewhat alleviate the current "You're so in the doghouse for not accepting my apology for said unintended murder..." and, "You killer! Get away from me until I conjure up a replacement..." stand-off I currently find myself in?)

*Apologies my internet decided to take a break for a few hours... and thus this piece remained somewhat unfinished.

The above is a look into the dark side of a writer... There are of course those (we) who write out of sheer joy most of the time. Love fills our hearts and beauty fills the pages. We delight in sharing our wit and our passion and our absolote devotion to the written word. It is an art, and like any other art form, it is based on mastering the craft within the art. We do our best to bring out the very best in us, to carry forth and join with others and in uniting, keep this art alive.

There are moments though. And it is those moments I explored above. Writers are human beings, carrying the same goodness and the same sins as everyone else. They just... have words. Sometimes too many, sometimes too few. Sometimes light and delicious to savour, sometimes bleak and distasteful. Truth is, all art requires an equal amount of good and evil. The trick is in the balance.