Are Most Writers Introverts?

Being introverted has its drawbacks. I find social events excruciating. In fact, I can't tell you the number of times I've developed a sudden "illness" the day of a party. (Well, not that many times, actually, because soon people would become suspicious.) I also hate making phone calls. It's not as if I didn't have plenty of practice in my working life, but even then I had to run a short script through my brain to plot out exactly what I would say. The only time I've ever plotted, if you're familiar with my writing style.

When it comes to writing fiction, though, introverts definitely have the edge. I don't know how these statistics can even be compiled, but supposedly 60% to 80% of creative writers are introverts. Is that self-reporting? Has to be. I don't think research firms could hire enough people to follow each writer around in order to make a judgement. Plus, I'd definitely notice if some stranger was tailing me.

I've been forced to attend social gatherings at which I only know two people, who are the hosts, so they're busy. They don't have the time nor the inclination to babysit me. It's so awkward. I don't have a good opening line. I really need one. Thus, if someone doesn't approach me, I just sit or stand around and smile like I'm having a great time. Or like I'm insane. Whichever.

Some people may have the misconception that introverts like me are focused inward in circumstances like these, but we're not. We're observing. I'm particularly keen on watching interactions, and I can spot immediately if two people like or loath each other. I can spot unhappy marriages (sadly). I can definitely pick out the blowhards. To me, it's extroverts who are less observant, because they're either very engaged in interacting with people or very engaged in trying to impress (no offense; that's a generalization).

According to Google, INFPs and INFJs are far over-represented in the writing field, even though they make up less than 5% of the general public. Authors, think there's too much competition now? Imagine if introverts comprised 95% of the population!

For anyone who's unfamiliar with good old Myers-Briggs, the difference between INFP and INFJ is perceiving versus judging. Otherwise, these two types share introversion (duh), intuition, and feeling. If the characteristics are to be believed, P writers prefer spontaneity and flexibility (i.e. discovery writers), whereas J authors much prefer structure; hence they tend to be outliners. Apparently, "judging" has a different connotation here from the one we're used to. It's not "judgmental"; it's "making decisions".

Both types are natural anthropologists. That's where being introverted is an advantage. As far back as I can remember, I studied people. As a sixth grader, I used to ride the city bus to school every day. The school district didn't consider it worth their while to send a bus out to my vicinity to pick up, at most, 4 or 5 kids. At that hour of the day, the bus was practically deserted. In fact, only two people besides me were along for the ride. The same two people every day. I'd take a seat halfway back and observe those two, who sat toward the front on different sides of the aisle. Either I found them fascinating or I was so bored I made them fascinating. Each of them interacted with the saint of a bus driver, Elmer, who was consistently convivial and soft spoken, never offering an opinion, just affirming whatever these two might say.

The woman was, I guessed, in her early thirties and she had that upsweep they all had in those days. Attractive, with a southern accent, which was odd, since I lived in the northern plains. The first thing I wanted to know was why she was residing so far from home. (I never spoke to her, so I never found out, of course.) She dressed professionally; likely a secretary. She wasn't flirtatious with Elmer; instead she tried to impress him with her "intellect", her expertise on any and everything. I think she was probably just a natural gabber. Good conversationalist, but exhausting to listen to. One morning I hopped on the bus and there she was with dark sunglasses shading her eyes. Eventually, she announced to Elmer that she'd gotten "snow blindness" from a long car ride. At twelve, I'd never heard of snow blindness and thought she was being over-dramatic, which she probably was. If you're a passenger in the car (because you obviously don't drive), why not try turning your eyes away from the sun's reflection? I was full of other questions. Exactly how long was this car ride? Where were you going? (I don't know; I guess I was just curious if it was a long stretch of road in the middle of nowhere.) Was it a special occasion? Who was driving? Your boyfriend? Your sister?

I had an unusual, I guess, curiosity about people's lives, especially strangers'. I think I was already forming a short story in my head.

The other passenger, a guy I'm guessing was early-to-mid thirties, never spoke about where he was heading so early every morning. I deduced that he didn't have an actual job, but I could have been wrong. He did have an unusual disability, I guess you'd call it. He otherwise seemed perfectly healthy, but every couple of minutes he'd jerk his head so far to the left I thought his head might swivel completely around at some point. It wasn't a nervous tick, I didn't think. I deduced he'd been in some kind of accident that caused his neck to seize up and he needed to relieve that every other minute. He, too, was a real talker. Poor Elmer. And he expressed curiosity over the most mundane things, like how tall the grass along the roadside was growing. Just like with Miss Shades, I wanted to know his story.

Those same two people--just those two--rode with me every morning until the school district finally gave in and added a bus route. (These two were far more interesting than the kids on the school bus, who were ostensibly morons.)

So, this boring story that has no point is an example of the introverted writer. We observe. We take it all in. We have questions, lots of them! If the answers aren't forthcoming, we supply our own.

I can't even imagine being an extrovert and writing stories. As an extrovert, wouldn't I have been up there in the front seat talking poor Elmer's ear off? Where's the observation in that? It would all be, me me me. There's a lot to be said for quiet listening.

I do find people fascinating, not that I want to have a two-way conversation with them, necessarily. People reveal more by their body language and expressions than they do when they feel like they're on display. They're free to be themselves. 

No doubt the stories I made up about those two in my head were far more interesting than the real ones. And that makes for good fiction.