free loneliness!

I dislike books with protagonists who are writers. There are exceptions, like Wallace Stegner's Crossing to Safety, a lyrical story about the relationship between two English professors and their wives. (In that case, the protagonist was many things before being a writer.) You are supposed to write about what you know, so it's no wonder that writers like to write about writers, i.e. themselves.

Now, I understand.

I envy the journalists and 9 to 5 writers out there. I once read an article about how John Grisham woke up an hour early every morning and just wrote those novels before going to do his lawyer thing. Alas, I am not such a creature.

My ability to write is determined by a mess of forces I am only beginning to comprehend. Amounts of sleep (more), social activity (less) and administrative tasks (less) are important. Physical activity and meditation are somewhat important. Serenity, very important. Which brings me to my discovery of piles and piles of loneliness. Welcome to the world of writing.

Even though collecting my data was an intensely social endeavor, writing it up is intensely not. I need hours of time to concentrate. When I have them, I still struggle. Between wanting to make social engagements and engaging in quasi-human interaction (i.e. email & Facebook), I stare at the screen and try to get back into the quiet space where the words flow. Where my own emotions are a placid ocean and I can discern shimmering patterns of life and meaning that aren't all about me. I get the sense that my dissertation committee isn't going to sign off on a memoir about my personal difficulties and subsequent emotional growth.

I'll be grandiose for a moment and say that writing is like no other activity. Language is what makes us human so if that's your craft, you're doing something that cuts to the core of humanness. And that, plus all the solitude, has a way of amplifying what is already there. To summarize: my loneliness feels a lot more lonely these days.