People think being a writer must be great. And it is. Great. Truly great. I get paid to write books. Which is killer. Beyond killer.
But it’s also lonely. Beyond lonely.
Was IMing with a friend last night, who’s finishing a book of his own. He didn’t talk about writer’s block or pressure, but of the mind-melting isolation that accompanies much of the process. In a sense, that’s why I’ve come to enjoy the reportingâ€”especially on-sight reportingâ€”more than the writing itself. The writing is, literally, 15 hours per day in front of a laptop, often in a room all alone. I probably mentioned this earlier, but during the dog days of Clemens I, literally, began talking to my dog. Norma is a nice pup, but, well, she doesn’t say much.
I’m not sure of the point here. But next time you complain about your officeâ€”the loud talker, the bombastic rectum, the hairy lady who shedsâ€”remember that being alone isn’t all it’s cracked up to.