I write about all the times I've cheated on my husband and call it fiction.
I'm gay and I can't stand Queer Lit.
I've never bought a book from an independent bookstore.
Three years after a close writing friend published her first novel for an ungodly sum of money, I still haven't read it.
Even though I write literature, I think movies, YouTube and Vine are where it's at.
As a combat veteran, I wrote fiction about a character who struggled with killing women and children during war. But it wasn’t fiction. It was my way of confessing.
Had a one night stand with a famous & married writer at a writer's retreat. Later, he emailed me John Mellencamp's video "Hurt So Good" and asked me for a dirty pair of underwear.
I bought an app that pinged my phone every time someone bought my novel.
When I smoke weed I feel guilty that I should be using that time to write; when I'm writing I rush to reach my wordcount so I can smoke weed after.
After writing short stories for more than 10 years, I still haven't published a single one.
I told my boyfriend I was going on a writing retreat for three days, but really I wanted to get away for a few days so I could decide whether I should break up with him.
All of my rejections are recorded on an Excel spreadsheet, and I always have the total number memorized.
I buy almost all of my books used for 1 cent on Amazon, even though I know I'm defrauding the author and publisher.
I wrote a nasty anonymous review of a friend's memoir.
I plagiarized two sentences of my dissertation.
I've had two well-received stories published as nonfiction that were, in fact, complete fabrications, i.e. fiction.
I threw away 300 pages of the novel I'd been working on for three years and still haven't told my agent.
It wasn't exactly lying when I wrote that controversial scene in my memoir; let's say I wildly exaggerated.
Every time I pay a $3 reading fee to a literary magazine, I roundly curse everyone on the masthead for being such greedy little fuckers.
I look down on everyone who self-publishes as being untalented hacks.
I secretly hope my writing friends are only moderately successful so I don't have to struggle with jealousy.
Sometimes when I'm reading a children's book to my kids, I feel like the author has written better prose than anything in my novel-in-progress.
At the 2013 AWP writing conference, I got propositioned by someone who knew I was married.
After I got cancer, I never wanted to write again. It just seemed so pointless.
I made more money writing erotica under a pseudonym than my last three literary novels.
I haven't read a book in six months.
I often masturbate after writing a sex scene.
90% of the time I have nothing worth saying.
When I got my first publication I played Michael Jackson's "Bad" in my car with the windows rolled down and a cigarette between my teeth. I haven't written much since then.
Though a gentile, I write wearing a yarmulke I received at a Jewish wedding. I figure channeling generations of Hebrew gag writers can't hurt.
I think Jack Kerouac is a terrible writer.
I teach creative writing and don't know the first thing about writing a good story.
I became a writer because I was too shy to speak.
In this overly connected world of social media, I am becoming more and more bored with everything and everybody.
I think I'm too fat to be a writer.
I hate words.
I can't write a word when it's nice outside.
I simultaneously submit to places where you are not allowed to simultaneously submit.
I'm afraid I'm pandering to an audience that I know will like my work. I don't want to be a sell out.
I study poetry for a living, but I only really like my own.
I stopped writing during my depression because it just felt pointless.
I told my husband that the angry, vengeful character in my new novel was based on a former boyfriend, but it really was based on him.
That trip to Panama that I told the IRS was for research? Well, let's just say my novel is set in Tennesee.
I'm too embarrassed to tell people I write poetry.
I can't make anything work. I have nothing to say anymore.
I entered a NAPOWRIMO chapbook contest and haven't written anything yet. It's 27 days into the month.
When I'm on antidepressants I can't write or create anything -- so I don't take them.
I went to a used bookstore. It reeked of rotting text and I'm terrified that's what my writing will become.
In college, feeling uninspired, I took song lyrics, rewrote them into a poem, and claimed it as my own.
I haven't read most of the books I own.
My self-published genre fiction novel has managed to do what nearly zero of my MFA peers have done in the last 15 years: make money and sell thousands of copies.
When my girlfriend got published in a lit mag we both submitted to, and I didn't, I almost decided to give up on poetry.
I wrote my first novel after my child died, and I convinced myself that giving birth to a book would alleviate the pain.
I don't write every day.
I think having children will ruin my career.
I only get to write every day and be successful because of my spouse.
Sometimes I don't want to just escape into my writing, I want to live there.
I only write when my spirit is led to do so.
I only write poetry because I'm too chickenshit to sing and play music.
I am doing it for the money.
My friends' published novels are okay. I just wish they had let me edit them.
I don't like the language I write in.
I thought erotica was easy to write, but my first story got rejected because the sex was unbelievable. My friend told me, "You can only write what you know."
A friend stole my idea and didn't give me credit. Since he's not a good enough friend to confront, I'm letting him and the idea go.
I rarely read whole books, I can't stand most of what's published in this century, and I read about one book a year.
Four days ago I sent my manuscript to my editor and after my brief elation I have been haunted by all the blathering redundancy he'll expose.
I've been working on a novel for almost 8 years and haven't finished it yet.
I write advertising.
I write fictional novels but don't bother to read them. 90% of my reading is interesting non-fiction books.
I write to make my high school sweetheart lonesome for me.
My writing workshop friends use lines or images from my poetry in their own, and it pisses me off.

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