Writing is how I make my way through the thicket of what we’ve made of this planet we’re on. It takes me a long time and lots of words. Social media mystifies me. How do so many people have so much to say, so quickly, and with such resolute certainty?
I heard an interview with a writer who said that if you can’t write in a noisy cafe you’re not a real writer. Nonsense. I prefer the advice Cheryl Strayed gave to a woman struggling to find her voice and write her story: Write like a motherfucker. That’s what I do. Every day. In the early morning quiet of my office.
“You are the most culturally illiterate person I have ever met,” a friend once told me. Insult? Compliment? Not sure. “What do you do every night after work?” he persisted.
“I read,” I said. I didn't tell him I also scribble, and draw, and hear voices and write down what they say.