Writers are loners—that’s for sure. But so are many other types of creative people, such as actors, musicians, painters, composers, designers of all types, singers—and the like.
Writers, if not the others, spend a lot of time alone—at the keyboard. We’re in our own worlds even when we’re taking baths, walking down the street, on the bus.
For us, the people in these worlds are our company. They make us cry and laugh and love—and all the while, we’re alone. But at the same time, we’re trying to connect with the humans outside, to show them what we’re really like, display our pools of clever originality.
I think this comes from—in my case, anyway—an early childhood of not being acknowledged. We may have been fed and clothed and taken to school on a daily basis, but all the wonderful stuff inside was never invited out or recognized. That’s what got bottled up and began to ferment. (Sociopaths and serial killers probably go through a similar process.)
We writers were usually big readers when we were young, if not later on, using fiction (sometimes nonfiction) as a fuel for the inner life (where most folks drive the interior monologue with the paraphernalia of personal relationships).
Of course as we loners get older, we form associations with people. We join groups of those who work in our crafts—we network both off and on line. We go to church or synagogue or Buddhist meditation groups, take yoga classes.
But still, we’re loners. We do our work at home alone, hope no one will call, dislike intrusions. We’re creating music, beautiful and artistic designs, novels that will bowl you over. Our way of relating to the world with love is indirect—yes, we do love you… But please, let’s maintain a respectable distance. We need our space and we need our time. After all, that’s how we learned our survival skills and who we are. Simply loners.
Try a free mystery story of mine: http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/101224
Thoreau is the protagonist.