Solitude

Image: AI generated image of the view outside my backdoor (when I am dreaming.)

One of the reasons I write early in the morning is because it fulfils a deep desire for solitude. Being alone for an hour or two, while purposefully not engaging with the social world creates space to observe, to think, to place my being in the midst of creation, all of which is important to support storytelling. Looking east out my back door at 5am, as I take the dogs out for their morning constitutional, the constellation Orion is on full display, with Gemini a little further north and Jupiter glows brightly, owning the sky. The silence, broken only by wind rustling through unseen trees and the occasional grain truck racing down the narrow country roads and air braking at the sharp turns, is invigorating. An hour later, the coming dawn will have washed away almost all the stars and planets, backlighting the tree line at the far edge of my yard, and the songbirds will be joyfully telling the world that it is time to be awake.

This is the perfect time for me to pursue a story. Before the world around me starts moving, surrounded by beauty and stillness, I can slip away from the place I am sitting and find the world of my narrative. I can find my characters, their needs and desires, and bring them to life. In college, I wrote late at night, surrounded by friends and commotion. That's probably why I was in my thirties before I could handle long form narrative structure. I had not realized my need for solitude.

My dad used to spend an hour, when he had time, sitting in a dark room with a cup of tea, getting ready for his day. For decades I saw Dad as the ultimate extrovert, engaging with everyone, always with a story or comment to share, and making an effort to make other people comfortable. I no longer believe that he was a true extrovert. I've come, in reflection, to think that hour was his opportunity to prepare himself for the role he chose to play: the great convener. I now believe he needed that how of solitude to function in the world the way he wanted to show up. Dad did show up, for as many people as he could, again and again, whether friend, stranger or just someone having a bad day. He could do it because he understood how to bask in solitude when he had the chance.

For me, writing happens in solitude. The finding of a narrative. But writing cannot stay in solitude (unless you are only writing for yourself. Nothing wrong with that.) Writing that is meant to be read by others needs to be shared for feedback, for suggestions, for some understanding of how well your vision and thoughts are coming through the words you have chosen. It's ironic that this work that is deeply personal, that requires stillness and space to happen only reaches its highest potential in community. Without an audience, a storyteller is talking to himself or herself. While I can easily fascinate myself (Writer's note: it's a low bar) my goal in writing is to touch others.

In a week filled with political violence and the anniversary of 9/11, it is easy to feel like everything is spinning wildly out of control. We must not abide cruelty, and we must not abide violence. More than that, we must focus on what we want to see in this world. I choose to live in a world filled with blessings and Grace.

Win a free Kindle edition of Love: a novel of grief and desire: I work with Reader's Favorite on the Kindle book giveaway. If you go to https://readersfavorite.com/book-giveaway/love/1 you can sign up for the monthly giveaway. You can scroll through the list of giveaways (over 500 each month) or sort the list by title or author to find Love: a novel of grief and desire and put your name in for this month's drawing. Good luck!