No Writer is An Island

Having worked in theater and film for so many years, I had become accustomed to the demands of relying on other people. It is a luxury to have other artists to add to the conversation and bounce ideas off of. But the other side of that is, you are bound to their schedules and their moods.

The frustration hit a peak several years ago about the time I decided to explore narrative writing. At first, I was overjoyed at having only myself to rely on. If I didn’t show up, it didn’t get done. But if I did, I could work as long or as hard as I wanted to.

I could jump on inspiration at any time of the day or night if I felt like it.

The solitary nature of writing, at first, created a pleasant work routine. In silence, I delved deep inside of my imagination. I could shut out the outside world and live in my story for as long as I needed to. I did not need permission or acknowledgment to try things out. I could cut scenes, add characters, twist plot lines, at my pleasure.

But looking back on my time writing the first couple drafts, this seems like a long distant vacation I was on. Soon I needed an editor. And I was bound to her schedule. And then came the formatting and illustrations and all of the registration and ISBN information.

As much as one believes that writing is one person’s work, like any other art, it is bound to other people. And that is a good thing.

In fact, you could take it a step further, and say that a writer only creates half of the piece; the reader creates the other half. If a story is not read, what good is the writing of it?

Art, and specifically writing, are microcosms of our society – it is reliant on more than its creator – it needs opinions and arguments to validate its existence.