Servant To Self
At breakfast this morning—alone by choice—I had three thoughts: the life of a writer is lonely, homeless people suck, and I have to change a character’s name in my Keeper Universe novel. Since today’s been a day of self-reflection, let’s focus on the first one: the loneliness.
It’s not the kind that comes from lack of friends. I have plenty. But serious writing—novel-length, world-building, character-forging writing—demands going all in. It’s not like these blog posts, where I can hammer out 500 words around a central thought and call it good. Fiction is different. It’s immersive.
Consider a single character. You can’t just slap on a name and a few physical traits and expect anyone to care. That’s how you get shitty stories no one wants to read—stories so bad the neighborhood picketers would be outside my door, demanding I hand over my author card. I’d be forced to eat humble pie and crawl back into the IT world, worshipping Gantt charts and pretending Excel was my soulmate.
So, yes—I take my fictional worlds seriously. Especially character development. That kind of work doesn’t happen while sitting around with friends, laughing about bad bosses or weekend plans. I need to know not only how my characters look, but how they walk. How they see their world. What makes them smile. What makes them fume. What they fear. Who they love. And most importantly—what role they play in the universe I’m creating. Are they the protagonist’s anchor? Their foil? Their obstacle? Their mirror?
That kind of understanding takes silence. Focus. Isolation. Which is why I choose solitude—not because I’ve stopped caring about the people in my life, but because this work requires it.
So if you’re a friend reading this, know that I still love you. I still think of you. Sometimes I even feel like a rotten friend. But I had to choose me right now. After nearly losing my life, I realized how short and precious it really is. This is my sacred soul work. The thing that sets me on fire. And if I want to succeed—if I want to create a legacy, to leave a mark—I have to serve that work first.
