Writers, by definition and practice, are solitary creatures. Days can go by, especially if I am on a deadline, where the only person I will see all day is my husband before he leaves for work in the morning and then when he returns 14 hours later. If I didn’t make myself go to the gym I’d have zero social interaction. The only people I would converse with all day are my characters, who aren’t, you know….real.
Most of my dialogue gets written with text-to-speech or Dragon, so the sound of a mechanical, robotic, voice coming at me for hours is kinda weird. Cool, but weird, too.
I know. Crazy.
This cloistered existence is not healthy mentally, physically, or spiritually. Not by a long shot.
Which is why I am thankful for the girlfriends I have.
None of my close gaggle of friends are writers, and sometimes that’s a good thing, others, not so much, but having them in my life means I get out of my attic, interact with people I adore, and step away from the fantasy land and make believe people I’ve created for myself.
Don’t get me wrong: I like being a hermit and in another lifetime in a galaxy far, far, away I probably was one. But to actually sit and chat, reconnect, and gossip, with girlfriends who knew you when, is marvelous. They get me through the humps of plot points just by randomly mentioning something. They give me insights into what’s going on in the world by telling me how their millenial children are faring. They bombard me with new character ideas ( and they don’t even know it!) when they tell me about crazy co-workers, or people they’ve come in contact with.
But they do so much more.
They keep me sane.
They keep me human.
They keep my feet on the ground.
They keep me centered.
They are shoulders to cry on, arms to embrace me, and a soft, safe spot to land when I need to jump off a ledge.
Thank God my for girlfriends.