Let me explain. I’ve writing for, I’d like to think, my entire life. It’s more or less shaped who I am as a person, and I’ve become quite happy with the person I’ve become. Some things have happened over the last few months or so, and I’ve responded by diving further and further into my craft, working tirelessly to improve myself. But here, at the end of the road, I look at my work and marvel at how far it has come, but I look around and see no one around, if you know what I mean. Perhaps I have missed the true point? I’ve chased transcendentalist insight and I’ve spent so much time bickering with idealist friends looking for some root of happiness in everything that I do, and that in itself may be the reason as to why I’m still sad. I’m lonely. Writing can be lonely. It’s dark here, in my office. My coffee is cold, my manuscript is literally plastered on the wall, I feel accomplished, but I feel lonely.
I don’t normally reach out to people for this, or at all really. But if anyone has any advice how to overcome the loneliness, how to find joy in my work again, I’m all ears.