SELECTIVE MEGALOMANIA: A WRITER’S PREROGATIVE

Hello my Freaky Darlings,

Monique3Monique Snyman has hi-jacked my blog today. Monique lives in Pretoria, South Africa with an adorable Chihuahua that keeps her company and a bloodthirsty lawyer who keeps her sane. She is a full-time author, part-time editor and in-between reviewer of all things entertaining. Her short fiction has been published in a number of small press anthologies, and she’s working hard on a couple of novels in her spare time.

Selective Megalomania is not a recognised psychological disorder yet. That might change after you’ve read the following post …

I propose the next definition for selective megalomania:

Selective Megalomania:

/sɪˈlɛktɪv/ /ˌmɛg(ə)lə(ʊ)ˈmeɪnɪə/
noun
obsession with the exercise of power from time to time.
synonyms: writers, authors, wordsmith, man/woman of letters, penman.

I like to think that the majority of writers are selective megalomaniacs. Not only do most of us have delusions of grandeur when it comes to our books, but more often than not, we have this incredible urge to play God when we write. We build fictitious worlds from scratch just to destroy them again. We make readers fall in love with characters and then kill them off simply because we can. A wonderful example of selective megalomania is George R.R. Martin. As everyone knows, the man has a tendency to kill off his characters left, right and centre. Nobody’s safe. It’s his prerogative though, those are his books, so why the hell not? Yet, Martin doesn’t show any signs of wanting to play God in real life (that I’ve noticed). It’s like he gets all of those urges out of his head by writing them down and then he’s right as rain again.
That’s selective megalomania, but George R.R. Martin is not the only one that suffers from this so-unreal-it-has-to-be-real disorder. Every writer, big or small, likes to be in control of their own little world and death be upon those who think otherwise.
You see, we live in transparent bubbles and we get irritated when it’s time to seem ‘normal’ by entering ‘normal society’. This is mostly because we can’t control what happens next. We try our best to ‘blend’ and we try to hide our true nature from friends and relatives, but sometimes faking it doesn’t work either. No matter how good we are at reading the cues to smile, nod, feint excitement or sadness or mimic emotion in general, sometimes we slip up and show that selective megalomaniac living inside us.
I’ve noticed that when I accidentally say something off-cue, I immediately think: ‘control, alt, delete’ or ‘backspace, backspace, backspace’ or ‘undo, bitch! UNDO’, depending on how big the oopsie was.
And if you’re anything like me, you might even observe these chance encounters with the outside world as an opportunity to, for entertainment’s sake, transcribe every movement of each so-called character (a.k.a friend) into a bookish form in your mind. After all, we understand books much better than we do humans.
That being said, writers in groups fair well from an anthropological point of view. You see, we are drawn to one another, and from the outside we look like an almost functioning group of ‘normals’. We’re not; we just understand how each other’s minds work, and we embrace each other for being wacky unsociable creatures with bad habits, disturbing thoughts and being able to ruin people’s CharmingIncantationsSanguinelives with our stories.
Of course, we’re not all bad all the time, but as writers we need to be selective megalomaniacs to keep you on the edge of your seat with our tales. It’s in the job description that nobody’s bothered writing up yet …

About Charming Incantations: Sanguine:
After the Goblin Lord’s identity was revealed, Lisa didn’t think her life could get any worse.
She was wrong.
Not only does she have to deal with Goblins, but now a civil war threatens to tear the vampire race apart, endangering humanity, and the efforts of The Alliance.
To add insult to injury, there’s a traitor in their midst.
Will Lisa ever catch a break, or is she doomed to live her life as a prisoner of her own bloodline?

 

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