Writer vs. Genre

"You always write something different," they say. You look up at them from your phone and shrug your shoulders. 

"I guess it's just the way I write..." you trail off not really knowing what else to say. 

"It's just ... weird." 

"Why?" 

That question was left lingering on your lips, penetrating their mind and it came to a standstill. Like during World War One, and there was the Christmas truce between the French, German and British soldiers who exchanged gifts and words. 

"I don't know," they say, "it's just, you're very friendly but you often write about death a lot, like ... a lot!" 

You shrug your shoulders and look back at your phone, finishing off the message you were just sending someone. You lock your phone and put it in your pocket and pick up the coffee you were drinking. 

"I guess I've got to let my creativity lie elsewhere." 

They shrug their shoulders too, moments after you. There was no real reason to continue this conversation, they went back to drinking their coffee and you did as well. You sigh and look at the area, a coffee house, a native place to any writer writing. Why did writers find their way to this place? You wouldn't know, but you enjoy the sights of people, and maybe that's it, maybe coffee houses are the places where you find the most interesting people and that's why writers flock to here. Who can really tell? 

Later that night, you mull over what your friend said. Why do you write, what you write? It's a question not many can answer, can you yourself answer it? Though when you think of it, you write what you're interested in. You might be friendly, and you might help people when they need it. But death is always inevitable, as much as many want to avoid it, death happens to us all and writing about can help you understand that feeling. The feelings of longing, and the feeling of sadness, that writing about characters that will never die is another feeling you don't know how to find. 

"Am I a friendly person?" You ask your sister, they pause the video they're watching and look at you, shrugging her shoulders you sigh. 

"Okay, thanks for that," you add. 

"You are, but you aren't." 

"Why's that?" 

"Well, see, you are, but like that's with your friends, when you go out and buy things, you go to the self-checkout rather than the register." She is right, but you have to defend yourself, you only go to the self-checkout when there's a big line and you have 1 or 2 items in your hands. 

"Yeah," you say. 

"And sometimes you tell me stuff that I find uncomfortable, like sex and stuff. You're outgoing most of the time, and this isn't always a bad thing, but you can be too friendly." 

Too friendly? It's very weird for you to be seen as too friendly, you are very different than your sister, but you might find that writing about death and morbid stuff is your outlet, in a world plagued by political disaster, new prime ministers everyday, and a world that generally doesn't care about the lower classes. You find that your worlds aren't necessarily fiction, and maybe being friendly is a good term, but you write about death because you can, and you aren't so far off from the world you know.