Writing is a lonely activity. The end goal is often community, though. You exchange the loneliness for a book deal and lots of people read your work. In theory. For those who don’t get published, is the loneliness for nothing? To me, writing is its own reward. It is a crying shame that other people won’t read it, but it is my personal cry against being forgotten. I don’t hang out with friends, so read my writing. The world’s a busy place with work demanding it’s 99 percent of flesh and little time is left besides to do what one wants. Weekends are for errands. Or friends. Or writing. Writing for me is all about generating friends. I’m a nice guy—you’ll have to take my word for that, but it’s true—but I’m also shy. I watch other people. I write about what I see. What I imagine happens among friends. The results may not be sparkly, but I notice the grit on the sidewalk shines too. I’ve alw...
Blog of a struggling writer.