They say that writing is a solitary endeavor, but no one really ever says why. I think that’s because there is actually a variety of reasons for it, and most of those reasons are probably highly individualized.
I know that some people like writing in public, in coffee shops for instance, but for me, I do better with silence and solitude. It’s easier to hear the voices in my head when I don’t have outside voices to contend with, not to mention the risk of getting interrupted while in the middle of a scene and the words are flowing and your fingers and brain are communicating – I have a hard time getting back into that groove once I’ve been pulled out of it.
Then, of course, there’s the fact that I am far more interested and emotionally invested in my work than others are. I used to have a sign hanging over my computer monitor that said, “No one else is interested in your writing so STFU about it.” I still have the sign and come across it every now and then and think about putting it back in place. I probably should, because far too often I’ve wanted to talk about my work in progress (or a budding plot bunny) only to be faced with total indifference and disinterest.
It is disheartening enough when you get monosyllabic answers, but having the person you’re talking to blow you off or ignore you in favor of something (or someone) else, or being interrupted with a total change of subject is enough to make me crawl back into my cave and stay there.
I’ve also (on more than one occasion) been talking to a friend who was asking about my writing and another friend has interrupted and derailed the conversation. Yep. Instant retreat back into my shell. (I don’t come out of my shell often.)
So, yeah, I should probably hang my sign up again as a reminder the next time I find it. (I’m pretty sure it’s in my computer hutch, behind my monitor. I’m also pretty sure that there are monsters living back there.)
Meanwhile, I’ll keep writing. And talking about it to anyone who will listen.