flying solo. . .
I am finding that when I am creating something, like the book I am finishing up, nobody else really cares about it very much. I wonder if everyone who struggles with something they create feels alone like that.
Actually, the aloneness is part of the joy of it too. To write what I want to read. To like it despite the number of times it is revised. To not care that much whether others will like it or not. To know when the energy in it has flattened out. And to be relieved when it improves itself and comes back again.
I guess flying solo is not so bad. At least it’s my flight.