Writing's No Fun

My boyfriend ducks his head in and out of my office, as I drift somewhere between revamping my resume, rubbing my eyes and writing on my blog. He's a musician, and being in his space while he's creating is dimensional and inspiring. He does things with sound that is unexpected and thrilling at times. My BFF is an artist with many mediums. Watching her take raw materials and mold them into three-dimensional pieces is pensive and intense. You can watch tension and release in the way she works and it is, indeed, work.

Writng isn't so fun. Most of the time I need music with no words and lonliness to produce gems. Bystanders disturb my groove and are eventually bored if not put off by my snubs. I don't want to talk. I don't want to hear any other voices but the ones in my head. I want to frown and sulk and moan. Crying is optimal. These emotions I feel, are painted across the sounds of someone else's canvas. The way I stretch and tame my emotions is most effective alone.

Nobody wants to watch a writer write. There is nothing exciting about seeing someone pace, play with their hair and spin in a chair for five minutes until they write two sentences and commence the same process again. Of all the arts, writing must be the most dull to witness. Most of the action occurs in other people's moment, and are distilled in late night cram sessions filling pages with nonsense that are eventually balled up and thrown away. Thank God for computers.