Get Out Much?

I don't know if other writers have noticed this, but hanging out with random people–say, at an event like the bar mitzvah I attended this past weekend in Philly–is even tougher than it used to be.  Sure, we can chalk a lot of this up to the fact that these are all unrelated folks, coming together for a brief period of time to schmooze, eat, and then scatter.  But for me, being with normal people and making conversation was just . . . weird.  It took me some time to figure out how to be around people again: you know, the niceties of chit-chat and all that.  Although I'm shy, I'm not hopeless and, in the past, being a shrink was somewhat helpful because most of us are shy and/or a bit off (a little like some writers I know, in fact) and we're taught how to talk to folks to get them talking.  In that kind of social situation, being a shrink's been a godsend.

This weekend, though, I felt the disconnect for a lot longer than usual.  It was just something I noticed about myself.  I don't think it has any deep psychological meaning to it other than a) I'm deep into my next book and would much rather have conversations with those guys and b) I spend most of my day alone and in my head, having conversations with imaginary people, who only sometimes behave themselves.  But when you're carefully scripting a conversation to be read, you become accustomed to thinking of the next line and the line after that and so on.  Do characters get uppity and say whatever the hell they feel like?  Sure–and in this way, it's a bit like real life, but only a bit.

In real life, you have to gauge facial expressions, body posture, and all that jazz which then becomes incorporated into your work.  Making the switch from all internal to a mix of the two is a challenge.  I'll bet this is one of the reasons Dickens used that mirror so much, not only to become his characters–Dickens was quite the budding thespian–but to solidify this shift from external to internal.

Anyway, it was just something I noticed about myself.  I do wonder if other writers feel the same.

***

The Sunday cake: in honor of St. Patrick's Day, I decided on a Guiness stout chocolate cake with semisweet ganache.  I wish I'd thought to take a picture before I ladled on all that ganache (I worry it's too much, but my husband assured me that there's no such thing as too much chocolate) because I used another new bundt pan.  While this cake wasn't the one I made, you can see those beautiful pleats.

Mine was similarly splendid.  Winslow certainly seems to approve.