I like people and enjoy their company. Yet I rarely socialize with anyone, apart from my wife and kids. I discourage visitors and go out as little as I can manage. Not from distaste or misanthropy. Mostly.
I live a solitary life because I am an artist, because of the kind of artist I am. People are the subject of my craft but actual contact with people deters me from accomplishing my tasks. I’m a highly sensitive person, the kind they write self-help books about but I don’t need any help with my sensitivity. I certainly don’t want to cure it. Sensitivity is my greatest tool when creating worlds of interacting characters.
People, all of you, generate emotions in me. You can’t help it; I can’t help it. The more I expose myself to anyone, the more emotional noise they create. In order to write, in order to create, I need almost pure emotional calm. Interacting with someone, anyone, can make it impossible for me to write for a week or more. Spending a weekend with someone can cost me a month. Life isn’t long enough to neglect my work and party.
For me, the concept of a writer’s block is turned around backwards. I always have things to say, words to write. But I have to be in the right place, emotionally, to work creatively. My writing may be blocked but that’s not a writing problem. Writing anyway won’t do anything for me. I need to calm myself, meditate things down, take control of the universe within me so I can hear the music, the words, the characters, the excitement, anguish, joy and pains. Shhh. I’m working on getting ready to work.
So don’t take offense when I turn down your invitation. I need to be alone. I need to work. I need to write.