Monthly Archives: August 2012
They do not understand. They do not understand. They think that I am doing nothing and am available for chores and social events because I do not have what they call “a regular job.” They do not understand that writing is work, and that I am working all the time; that I need long periods of solitude and silence as part of my work; that my subconscious is writing when I am not.
“A writer never has a vacation. For a writer, life consists of either writing or thinking about writing.” – Eugene Ionesco
“It’s not good for you to spend so much time alone,” they say.
“But I am with my thoughts and books. I am never alone.”
“Ha! Thoughts and books! You sound crazy. You’re not doing anything, you can help us with this. You can help us with that.”
“I can’t. I’m working.”
“What are you working at?”
“Oh that’s not work. Besides, you can write later.”
Then they are angry with me because I will not leave my work to help them. They do not see that my work is just as valid as their work.
I am in a special place when I am with my thoughts and books. I have no name for this special place, and I don’t know where it is. I only know how to get there. You are there now as you read this.
How wondrous writing is! It creates a place you can go to that is not on any map. How much effort and energy goes into writing, and other acts of creation, to make this special place! But they do not recognize this effort and energy. Is this because they allow light and images from television screens to numb their brains? Is this because they never read a book? Is this because they cannot sit alone in a room without becoming bored. Is this because their lives consist of constantly finding distractions to drown the silence and their thoughts? Who knows? They do not understand, and perhaps they never will.
A writer is working when he [or she] is staring out of the window.
– Burton Rascoe