The Loneliness of a Writer

 

I think many creative people struggle. They struggle because they are locked inside their own heads. Whether that is them composing a song, painting on canvas, or writing a book, creative people all struggle because as they create they all share a similar feeling: loneliness.  

Writing is probably the loneliest art to practice. A writer secludes himself, stares at that insufferable blank page, and in the words of Hemingway, bleeds onto it, drop by drop. And there’s no one there to bleed with you, to hold your hand and support you through the agony. There’s not another soul to hear you shouting and screaming into the abyss as you conjure mirages and illusions from your mind. Though you paint a world of story, with plot, and characters, and intrigue, and passion, it is all smoke and mirrors. All of those things just come from your head. There is no one there with you as you dream in the dark; as you try to play God and create your own universe. 

When I talk about loneliness, in this context, I do mean the loneliness of the creative. Creative people always stand outside the herd. They graze on the grass seldom trodden, they swim to the depths rarely explored. They don’t play it safe, and because there are more people who would rather be safe, creatives walk alone. It is a price they pay. 

Now, that’s not to say creatives don’t socialize with other creatives. They bounce ideas off of each other, they share similar tastes in music and poetry. But there is a solitude that comes with creating, and it’s not one that can be shared. As it is, it’s the expression of our soul, and there are not many people, if any at all, that we are willing to reveal our soul to. 

When I made the announcement back in July that I was writing a book, I started off going full speed ahead. I wrote a rough draft of my project in less than a month…and then I just stopped. I couldn’t edit the book. I couldn’t start crafting it to where I wanted it to be. For two months I couldn’t make any headway in the book, and I couldn’t even find satisfaction in writing other projects. I got stuck. 

And, as odd as it sounds, it was because I was lonely. I was lonely creatively, and I was lonely in my personal life. It pervaded my heart with a dour emotion that kept me from working, that killed the creativity in me, so that I no longer wanted to write. 

Somehow or another, the clouds have lifted in the past few weeks. I’m not sure how, but the lonely feeling that kept me from writing has subsided for now, and I found that I have been able to work on my book again. And though I create it in solitude, I strive for people to hold a copy of my book in their hands one day. And as they read it, I will reveal a piece of my soul, and then I will know that the loneliness was worth it.

This article was originally published in The People-Sentinel, 2022. 

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