Writing is a solitary activity. Do it consistently and your laptop will become your best friend. You’ll clasp your notebook like a security blanket. You’ll wear black for days at the loss of your favorite pen. You’ll eat many meals out of Styrofoam containers. You’ll forget what household chores are. And you’ll spend little to no time with the people you love.
You’ll receive angry texts, curious emails, and plenty of phone calls asking, “what’s up with you?” or “where have you been hiding?” If you’re lucky, you’ll explain that it’s nothing personal, that you've been committed to your writing goals, and your loved ones will accept that and proudly support you. If you’re unlucky, feelings will be hurt and ties will unbind. You may even find yourself half a pint deep in a tub of ice cream asking “is all this worth it?”
The answer is incontrovertible: YES.
Everyone has dreams and desires, goals and plans, but few have the courage to restructure their lives in the profound ways necessary to achieve them. One day, with a copy of your book in hand, you’ll look around and notice those standing with you. Those loved ones believed in you, stood by you, and comforted you during your self-imposed isolation. You’ll owe them undying gratitude and be all the richer for it.
Baggage has no place in a writer’s life besides on the page. I can no longer focus on what was. I’m taking baby steps on my path with eyes locked on the future. I’m planting seeds, making connections, and watching new life grow. I’m listening to that quiet voice deep inside me that yearns to tell stories. It grows louder with each day. I simply refuse to feel guilty about dancing to my own tune.