I am terrified of turning into one of those writers who only socializes with other writers and people in publishing. Of course, it’s a natural gravitation - common ground, a forum of curious, interesting people off of whom to bounce your ideas - but really, it can quickly become mentally alienating. While I am excited to be around people who understand what I’m experiencing and the things about which I am passionate (and am so grateful for their presence in my life), it’s often so difficult to steer conversations away from literature, publishing, hopes, dreams, and expectations. And soon to return to the advanced workshop environment, I’m nervous that jesting, “I only think about writing” will quickly become the reality that I only think about writing. It can’t be healthy, can it?
Being around only those who share your main smorgasbord of interests - no matter how adamantly you swear you have boundless depth of character and diversity of investment - threatens to make you lazy. Doesn’t facilitate having to work to discover something about your company, doesn’t give you the same broad, curious buzz about being in the presence of another who is so different. And isn’t that where the best characters come from, anyway? Stretching ourselves to actually learn about others, and to shake the habit of expecting that certain things about a person are a given? Feeling the weight of surprise and then basking in inspiration?
The musing seems so simple, but perhaps since I grew up around people whose interests diverged so wildly from mine, and who were involved in so many different things, I never really had to think about it. While I want to be known for one thing, I don’t want to be defined by it.
M
