It is always a lonely practice, this writing life. In more ways than just needing to concentrate in a room alone. We question our characters: Are they two-dimensional? We question our plots and subplots: Do they keep the pace going? Are our themes recognizable but not too obvious? (We never want to get “caught writing”.) The list goes on and on in an unbroken chain. And then there are our insecurities about our writing. Who can we show this to? Who can we trust to tell the truth and will they be laughing at us on the inside? Seeing us as incapable but not wanting to tell us. Who, what, how, when, WHY?
Why? Why do we write? Because we HAVE to. There is no way around it. Sometimes we wish there were. It is almost like a curse we were borne with. Sometimes-in those beautiful moments-it is a blessing.
There is a school of thought in….read more.