You Know You're a Writer When. . .

You know you're a writer when you think the only things you'll be doing this summer is read, write, explore the woods, and go camping with your friends. Then your mother comes in with, chores, P.E. (;P) and studying Spanish. Groan.

You also know you're a writer when you go through your notebooks and find a large folder stuffed with twenty-some odd bits of stories you started and never finished but don't want to throw out because you COULD finish them someday, and it could be the novel of the year. Or the week.

You know you're a writer when you have so many internet tabs open for research that it takes precision to go to a page and not hit the X on accident and close it.

You know you're a writer when you're listening to your mother give your little brother a spelling test, his word is allegiance, the sample sentence is "Your uniform identifies your allegiance," and the first thought that pops into your head is, "Unless he's a spy!"

You know you're a writer when you have dried flowers, a dragon, a chameleon, a simple model of human anatomy, electrical tape, a glass chess piece, an arrowhead,some inspirational quotes, and several books adorning your desk. The rolls of electrical tape serve as a vase for the dried flowers.

You know you're a writer when you see normal people in the streets that look like bad guys and immediately jot down their discriptions so you can put it in a book someday.

Anne of Lothlorien: YEEEEESSSSSS!!! (How come nobody every puts more than one y?) I actually still have a description from a couple of years ago... I mean, come on, they were dressed all in black, their vehicle was black, they had sunglasses on, and they looked nothing alike. He was fat and bald, she was skinny and a redhead. HOW IS THAT NOT SUSPICIOUS???

You know you're a writer when you're genuinely shocked to meet a person that's so much like a really annoying book character, you wonder if you're dreaming and should slap some sense into him. He was your classic "city-kid nerd." Short, awkward, squeaky voice, boxy glasses- that wasn't so bad, but the description was very much like a fiction city-boy. But it was his actions and obviously over-sheltered life that really hit home. HE DIDN'T WANT TO TOUCH ANY PLANTS BECAUSE "THEY MIGHT BE POISONOUS"!!! I didn't even know people like that existed outside of fiction... ugh. Watch out... he might be in one of my books someday.

Anne of Lothlorien he was at Jonathon's open house, his name was Hunter (how sadly ironic), I think he was about my age, and I have no idea how you could meet him without getting contact information from Jonathon. And that would be just a little awkward. "Hey Jonathon, can I have contact information for your friend, Hunter? The one scared of plants?" Yeah, let's just not go there.

Or how about this random thought that came to me at eleven thirteen at night?

"Open the door, or open the window. Either one works, unless you're too large for the window"