Asking a creative writer to write about themselves is like asking a dancer to walk. They are incredibly clumsy. The blank screen provokes you and begins to take on a sarcastic, self-deprecating taunt. I believe an empty canvas may be alluring to an artist, but it quickly becomes a nemesis of those who play the word game. Purposeful word vomit is much different than a carefully crafted purge.
Distancing myself into a third-person view has been an undertaking. I’ve come to realize when creating characters for my imaginary scenarios; I couldn’t be farther away from who I am as a person. My favorite is the egocentric version that can blurt out those one-liners I think of 30 seconds too late or that pretentious person who decided their coffee needs were far more critical than mine. Causing that character some fictional pain is a cheap form of therapy.
If you haven’t figured out that I would instead jump from a ladder wearing a meat suit into a bees nest than write about myself, I haven’t used the proper adjectives. Unfortunately, writers work for themselves, which means we have to upsell regularly. My advice to any writer out there who struggle with similar barriers is to pretend you’re writing about your best friend. Better yet, have your best friend make a list of all your endearing qualities and accomplishments. That way, your head will still fit nicely through a door, and your stomach will stop its rotational spin.