
![]() All these weeks of writing about isolation has had an interesting affect on me mentally and physically. The more cramped and secluded the situations I put my characters in, the more I long for a similar experience. As a writer, as a woman writer in particular, we have to write around, in-between, and though the noise of daily life. The world becomes vast and loud and overpopulated. So when I'm writing about a woman who makes herself small and spends most of her time in vents or about a man who is restricted from going outside and how he has to deal with being alone, I'm writing about finding solitude. I'm writing about creating some control over some elements of your environment and life and giving up others. Recently, I confided in my husband that I was jumping out of my skin. I needed to get away from life and hole up somewhere to write and read and meditate, and I needed to do it alone. In isolation. It's fitting then, I found a small cabin in a forest that once housed an actual hermit. I've been advised to bring a flashlight because it's secluded from town and gets "the kind of dark you never knew existed." Sounds perfect.
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Wily Westings
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