Life is a Song68856

I was never much of a networker. I never understood how you could have time to foster social contacts, work full time, and care for even your hand-washables much less a pet, husband, or child, and still write. But not-writing created a cloud of guilt and fear I could never negotiate. The guilt was particularly awful because it limited whatever precious free moments I could find. It forced me to put down a book I was reading in favor of trying to write one of my own. It made me turn off the TV or stereo and attempt to think. It even made me avoid answering the phone.

While I believe I could have eventually drowned my guilt in plain and peanut M&Ms, there was no escaping the fear generated by too light a word count. Fostered by well-meaning teachers who highlighted the pitfalls of a literary life, my fear spun nightmares worthy of a Stephen King novel. Fear was a constant reminder that if too much time passed between writing sessions, I would lose whatever ability I possessed, or worse yet, lose even the desire to write. Nothing seemed worse.

I read stories of wayward writers, writers committing suicide, writers who only kept their scotch glasses half full. I didnt know if you had to fly to an outdoor caf in France to meet those writers or if one day, a bunch of them would just show up at some Woody Allen retrospective and recruit me into their club. And if I did meet other writers, who would talk? Would we all just stand around making mental notes of each other, or would we attempt some actual conversation? I was always comfortable writing dialogue, but for some reason, when the word party got involved, I had all the eloquence of a chipmunk.

Just when I was certain I had been consigned to a life excluding peers and ex-classmates, along came email. It possessed the greatest of attributes. It was communication that didnt force the spontaneity of a phone call. Joy of all joys, it could be edited. It could be managed with drinks or without, and best of all, it required writing. How else could you share photos of a recent parade, send your best friend from fourth-grade a musical birthday card, or utilize your typing speed to win an argument, with an emphatic last word and sign-off! My penmanship may have deteriorated, but my presence in the social sphere has spiked, and all without leaving my chair. I can travel through my fingertips, and because of the internet I can even enjoy reality on my own terms.

L. A. Rentschler, author of the newly released novel Mother (amazon.com). Author of Jitters which was produced as a Lifetime Original Movie. Playwright, best known for Deathbed. IWWG. Dramatist Guild of America. http://www.larentschler.com Write to her: linda@larentschler.com