Friends and acquaintances usually have an impression and/or expectation that when someone wants to be a writer or is already one, has a different sense of reality. That most of the conversation you’ll encounter with a writer would be reflective or deep. Maybe those people are just my friends and not others in general. Anyhow, writing is also considered by some as an old, dying trade, so finances might crumble on top of the writer’s lap.
When I don’t meet those expectations, the thought makes me feel that something is wrong with me. Why the hell did I choose to write?
Friends of friends might even be surprised and gasp that “Oh, you like to write. That’s great!”
but behind your back you’ll hear them whisper, “I can’t believe her. Poor girl.”
“A writer? She’s too ordinary!”