I've lived alone most of my life in a world of ideas. I'm a writer. No, not a famous or "successful" one with the Great American Novel to my credit, but I've earned a very steady living over the years as a corporate technical writer, a book editor, a marketing writer, and a writer on the staff of magazines and newspapers. For a few years, I had my own column in a magazine and wrote humorous stories based on truth, with a nationwide following. I'm in the process of recording an audiobook of those special stories.
Very few friends will have dialogue with me in my world of ideas, and those only occasionally. I’m comfortable with that. I’m presently publishing my writings to this blog. Only a handful of people read this blog every day, compared to thousands of people who read others’ blogs every day. I’m used to the idea that my writing won't appeal to the masses.
I've come to believe that if something (an idea or story) comes out of my mouth in conversation, it won’t go down on paper. It’s probably a superstition, but one that has served me well.
Writers who write from their hearts and souls have to be comfortable being alone, while still longing, aching, craving to connect to others. That longing is where the motivation lies to transform pen and paper (or mouse and computer) into the creation, the enticement, the keys that unlock the door to the secret garden of mind, thoughts, stories, and truth itself.
For you see, writing is the practice of a special kind of meditation that takes us to places we can't get to any other way. We arrive in those places within the boundaries of silence and solitude, and when we get there, all freedom breaks loose!
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