On the busy days with work, family and a burning story idea begging to be written, I wonder why I didn’t grow up to be a hermit. That way I would have all day to write and not worry about life’s little worries of home, hearth, and family. Then on the days when the words refuse to come then it would be a horror story waiting to happen if I was hermit The crazy lady that lives in a shack in the woods, with no one to talk to but the trees. Yep, there’s a psycho tale waiting to be told there.
Mr. Steven King wrote in On Writing, “a writer’s desk should not be in the center of the room lest he forget that his writing revolves around the world, and the world doesn’t revolve around his writing. So wisely he suggests a writer should place his desk by the window so that he may observe the world as he writes.” My apologies if I didn’t get the quote exactly, but I got the gist of it. So if one of America’s most popular and well loved authors believes that writing revolves around life who am I to suggest a life lived hidden and out of sight would be better. Oh but I do dream of it when the world threats to overwhelm and crush me.
Or maybe the monks and nuns had it right, a life lived behind cloistered walls and religious introspection. Only that really isn’t me, the whole looking within is part of my personality and I may not be as unique as I once thought in that aspect. However the Good Lord above meant for us to live life, not hide from it. So I suppose there is my answer, hermit daycations are okay, but not a lifestyle.
Cheers on this Saturday evening, james