Stephen Pressfield writes in his book the War of Art, “Friends sometimes ask, ‘Don’t you get lonely sitting by yourself all day?’ At first it seemed odd to hear myself answer no. Then I realized that I was not alone; I was in the book; I was with the characters. I was with my Self.”
I agree. Writing alone is not so bad. How else do you do it?
Writing is for me exhilarating, but I don’t think I could write day in and day out.
It will always be my wish that I wrote a lot sooner. The problem is what would I have written about? I rode a never ending train. The world was just here. Barring an unlikely accident statistically, it wasn’t going to go away. My problems were in the moment and the moment was forever.
Today the moment has more immediacy. I feel life’s clock ticking, and as deadlines have always been effective for me, my world is more efficient than when I was young. I am loved. I am content. My surroundings are perfect. How pollyanna is that?