Silent and Alone, Just How I Like It

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Someone said to me today they knew I was a writer because I need to be alone to think most of the time. (They also said they knew I was a crime writer by the way I looked. I always thought I looked quite sweet and innocent)

It's true, though, isn't it? We can't be around other people all the time. We need to be alone. We need time to sit and listen to the voices in our head. We need to disappear into our own imagination without someone poking us and saying 'what are you thinking about and incidentally what do you want for dinner?'

I hate being asked what I'm thinking about as it is often a devious method of murder or the darkness in a character's mind and when I say this they give me a strange look and back away.

So maybe this is the sign of a writer. Not ink on our fingers or a massive amount of reference books or awareness of what an Oxford comma is. It's being known that we need to be alone to think.

The House at Baker Street by Michelle Birkby

The Women Of Baker Street

Sent from my iPad

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