Do I look like a writer?

Can you guess which one of us is a writer?

Can you guess which one of us is a writer?

When it was announced I had won a contract to have my first novel published, a colleague at the day job informed me he wasn’t surprised, as I “looked” like a writer.

Now this colleague did work in our finance department and accountant types do tend to be a strange breed. It got me thinking though, what exactly is a writer supposed to look like? I did ask him to elaborate, but he was a bit vague, muttering something illegible under his breath in that way accountant types do.

Was it my clothing? I tend to mostly go for comfort when getting dressed. Maxi dresses, flip flop type sandals, pretty little cardigans… I can do glam, but walking in heels is an art and when I do it, I look a little like I’ve crapped myself, so I tend to reserve this kind of outfit for special occasions. Was my casual hippy chick image one of a writer?

Perhaps it was my physical appearance. I am tallish, blonde (from a bottle), with brown eyes and a continually expanding chest. Seriously, I think my boobs are on a mission to take over the world. Was this it? Did all writers have big boobs? Was writing somehow synonymous with blond hair? I thought of Stephen King. He was a successful author and yet he had neither.

By now I was truly flummoxed. I guessed it could be my expressions. Is there a special writer face? Given that I pretty much have three expressions; the deep in thought frown, which tends to scare most people away, even though I am usually thinking about something as inane as what I want for dinner, the dozy, far away, half smile, where yet again I am usually thinking about dinner, and the goofy over excited grin, which is an expression I am normally wearing when it is dinner, I discounted this idea.

Maybe it was in the way I move. I have two left feet, routinely trip over stuff that isn’t there and have the grace, co-ordination and rhythm of a drunk hippopotamus. No, it wasn’t in the way I moved.

So that pretty much left accessories. What accessories come to mind when people think of me? Cats? I tend to be covered in a layer of their fluff even when they’re not present. Glass of red wine in one hand? Are these the trappings of a true writer?