Sometimes you have no idea where you are going, but you know you are making progress, because as you walk you see the trees move away from you.
Writing is a daily habit, like eating or sleeping. I wake up and I write. Or during the day, I have an idea and I write. I no longer have to force myself to write, like I had to a year ago.
In your spare time you would rather write than do anything else. The prospect of seeing a film is not as appealing as it used to be, not when the story awaits on the desk, unfinished.
Solitude does not bother you. There are days when I do not talk to anyone for up to 12-16 hours.
When you want to understand your thoughts and emotions you write about them. These days I feel that thinking on paper – as I call writing about my thoughts and emotions – is the only clear way of thinking.
Your eyesight is getting worse. I do not have to wear glasses full-time yet, but it’s only a matter of time before I do.
When reading, you spot sentences that you could have written better yourself. This is enjoyable, especially when the author is famous.
You feel proud when you recommend yourself as a writer to a person of the opposite sex. ‘Hello, I am Vincent and I am a writer.’ ‘A writer? Do you mean journalist? You write for newspapers?’ ‘No, I write stories, I mean I am not famous yet, but I hope to be in the near future.’ ‘How cool! I like stories…’
Your acquire peculiar habits. I talk to myself aloud about literary things when I think nobody is hearing. I dip my hands in hot water to warm them before writing
You are no longer shocked when you read what you have written the day before, only distressed. Two years ago, each time I read what I had written on the previous day, I wept. Today, when I read what I wrote yesterday, I only hang my head and sigh.(This post was first published last year.)
What other signs would you add to this list?