Tuesday, April 8, 2014

A personal confession

    There is one side of me that puzzles others. Most know me by my social nature. Yet if acquaintances were to track my movements carefully, they would know that I am not consistently one way or the other. 
    The doorbell chimes and I go into a virtual panic. I do the opposite and head to the furthest recesses of the house and wait until the incessant ringing stops. In the distance I hear a car door slam, and moments later, the sound of its engine roaring down the road. Once again, I am safe to go about my writing life without interference.
     Such a solitary soul I am. I hold privacy in the highest regard, and don’t wish to be bothered by useless trivia that will take me off the task at hand. I require lengthy spaces of time of peace and quiet collecting my deepest thoughts like wooing fluttering butterflies inside a net.
     It would make better sense to hang a sign on the door: DO NOT DISTURB. WRITER IN RESIDENCE
     It would make even better sense to find a retreat cabin in the woods and write there. Actually, I have one situated in the furthest outpost of our land, and frequently I take up summer residence. People still walk the path to find me calling out unaware that I am there for a reason. It's hard for non-writers, or anyone not in the creative arts, to understand the way my mind functions and how I am ordering my daily life.

     The best remedy is to get up before the rest of the world and put my hands to the keyboard for a couple hours of quality writing while my mind is fresh and the words come forth easily like smoothing an exquisite piece of silk fabric between the fingertips in anticipation of a magnificent completed garment.