I Use My Writing as an Excuse to Watch Reality TV – Melissa Storm
Melissa Storm
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I Use My Writing as an Excuse to Watch Reality TV

So I’ve been invited to participate in this writers’ guilty pleasure hop. Okay. I hope you guys still like me after this mind-blowing confession. I use writing as an excuse…


There, I’ve said it. I love reality TV; I really do. From the Bachelor Franchise to America’s Next Top Model, Project Runway, The Glee Project, America’s Got Talent, and Survivor. Oh, I am an addict. And ever since Emily’s season of the Bachelorette, “Get drunk and watch the Bachelor night” is the high point of my week.

Yes, it’s sad, but it’s also true. Since I can’t reconcile the reality TV addict side of myself with every other part, I use my go-to excuse—“Erm, hello, I’m a writer and stuff. It’s… research.”

Is it really research?

<deep inhale>

No, no, it’s not. But it’s a lot like writing. At least to me.

When I watch those crazy people pursuing their dreams or their dream mate or just lots of money, I get to become them—much like I become my characters when writing. I don’t actually have to jump naked into the Bachelor mansion’s pool or convince Ben to give ME the rose, dammit! Nor do I have to hide behind lies and broken alliances to earn a million dollar pay day. And I don’t have to sew, sew, freaking sew, non-stop for hours upon hours on end only to have Michael Kors and Nina Garcia say, “Eh, not so much. She looks like a blow-up clown cum hooker.”

And I don’t just passively watch these shows either. I get seriously invested, yo.

Like when a designer gets booted off Project Runway, I cry. I guess a reality series about New York’s Next Top Writer would be… not the most interesting thing ever. So I live vicariously through the fashion shows. Designers and models are a lot like writers, if you think about it—creative, equipped with a dream that just won’t die, and—yeah—crazy.

Taking this further, I would love to actually be on a reality TV show, because it would make for amazing… research… for my writing. Uh-huh.