With my husband out of town for a football game, I took advantage of the silence at home, spending the better part of the past weekend chained to my computer. Cranking out pages for the EV sequel, I ventured away only for food and sleep and a few other necessities. Sunday morning I decided three days without a shower was long enough. I finally had some human contact last night at a scheduled work obligation. Today I'm staying home to nurse a lower back injury, managing within the last hour to prop myself again at my desk with alternating hot and cold applications on the afflicted area.
A three-day composition marathon has driven home a sad truth about writing: it's a lonely profession. If my back pain allows for it, I'm ready to head for Wal-Mart and strike up a conversation with the first living soul I encounter. I remember reading once about a writer who made a point of ordering a new suit every time he started a new book, just so he'd have an excuse to leave the house for fittings and converse with another human being.
My local writers' group has become a sort of support group in this sense. I know that at least once a month I will go out and converse with like-minded people about what I'm working on, and I hope, offer some encouragement. If you are a writer with no such group to rely on, I highly recommend you try to start one. I tried and failed to do so twice before this group formed (third time's the charm?) so don't give up if it doesn't work out right away. I'm confident you will be benefit from seeing it through.
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