I write early in the morning, at 5 am. My house is quiet, as the rest of my family is still sleeping. I go into my office, turn up the white noise, drink coffee and type. It’s by far the most pleasurable part of my day. I’m only afforded about two hours before I must leave for work. When I do so and shut off the white noise and shut down the computer, I re-enter the world, and it feels so very foreign.
I think it’s fair to say that most people do not enjoy working in solitude. My mother works from home and needs to leave the television on for background noise. I know people who split time between the office and home and are more productive at home, but miss the company of their colleagues. Writers, in spite of their collaboration with agents and editors must embrace being alone. Sure, we can write at coffee shops and libraries and anywhere with free Wi-Fi, but ultimately, we are still there by ourselves.
Beyond the world and character creation, I love the silence of writing. Sure. My head is humming with ideas, but nothing else is touching me. How often can I say that about the rest of my day? I’m surrounded by teenagers and then athletes and then my family. The constant stimulus of “To Do” lists and the Internet and gossip and texts and tweets keeps me wired for the bulk of my day. But I know upon going to bed, that in the morning my office will be there, a pot of strong coffee will be brewed, and the world outside will stay quiet for a while, because my other one awaits.