A Time To Write - Ruben D. Gonzales
It came as a surprise to me, the
solitariness of writing. Long hours alone. Cooped up with only my thoughts on
the created fictional world. I now understand the draw a fictional world holds
over troubled souls. A world of your own making where outside stresses may be
left behind. Where worries of a Corona virus need not be carried. Our shoulders,
bent under the pressure of every day life, suddenly relieved by the trip into
another domain, created just as you want, filled with whimsical characters or
dreadful spirits, happy children, or assassins bent on death.
Of course my wife dislikes that
world. The world where I appear to lose myself – away from the immediacy of the
household world. Both retired now from working beneath others, on others
schedules, from others expectations, I think she thought the hard earned free time
would be our time. Time to spend visiting grand children. Time for household
chores and renovations. Instead she discovered a writing hermit had been sharing her
bed all these years.
Not that I entirely withdraw from
the world around. There are still meals to contemplate, trash to take out, occasional
long delayed home repairs. But at the slightest pause in the everyday I can
dash to the computer to write. To retreat into the world of my current story,
treasure hunt or mystery.
As writing has become the must do –
other once cherished past times have indeed passed. The guitar in its case remains
silent. The twang of the banjo leaning against the wall next to my desk remains
strangely quiet. The piano in the den, even at this holiday time of year, has
lost its merriment. All replaced by solitary writing where the words on the
page take the primary position over all else.
Is this why the literary world is filled with the scared
souls of our greatest writers? Or have I not just found the balance between
what is expected and what is needed - to write.
So I steal time in the early morning hours, waking at 4:00 AM - sometimes earlier. Stealing time from sleep. A double edged sword. To find time to write but with the loss of sleep the dreams that come are also lost.
