So says the cover of a brochure put out by the writer’s group I have recently joined.
Oh yes! I have joined. The word ‘joined’ has the power to wrangle me into fits of discomfort and ego-driven explanations about my aversion to being a ‘joiner’.
But I LOVE the solitary act of writing. I write because it is such a satisfactory act of alone-ness. Just me and my imagination. Do I want to listen to myself reading my own words in a group setting? No! My words should be read as they were written, by someone who is alone. Oh dear. I truly do need to get over this. Apparently, I take much pride in my seclusion.
Do I set myself up as being an elitist if I say that I would hate to sit with a group of intellectual elitists reading prose from their superbly tailored paragraphs, chapters and novels? Who wants to listen to my drivel anyway if they could listen to some other intellectual elitist, who can write circles around me?
So was I not joining because I find that kind of atmosphere stifling and impossible to stomach or because I am afraid that my writing is just not up to snuff? I’m not answering that, I think I still need to ponder it.
However, I have taken a step forward into the world of writers. See, even that bugs me. I don’t want to be part of the world. None-the-less, I will go and be open-minded and hopefully leave my ego at the door and learn something. I think the people there are nice. But I won’t read. Not yet. I will listen. Yes, that’s it. I probably need to listen a lot. Until I get over myself. But for a Scorpio, that could take time. I kinda like my self imposed solitary-ness. That IS a word!