I can't imagine how terrible solitary confinement must be. Or rather, and I can kind of now imagine it a little bit, but knowing that it must be sooooo much worse than what I'm going through now.
Perhaps for an introvert like myself, being stuck inside a house for months with 3 enormous talkative, outgoing people is more like that torture technique where they use loud aggressive music for hours and hours and hours and hours...
Life is a wave of extremes now, near constant energy and excitement, and then moments of solemn introspection.
I've been writing more than I have in a very long time. Not since I was finishing up The Sisters almost 2 years ago. I imagine it was simply the normal busyness of having a growing family, working, taking care of a house, and taking care of the most important relationships of your life. These things take up a lot of oxygen in your life, a relatively brief flurry of activity that then passes, never to return again.
But now things are very different. I still have all those old things filling my world, but they're not as demanding. They're slower, more human-speed somehow. And I'm finding my voice again in the stillness. There's a clarity in this moment, of mind, of spirit, of heart, where things are slow enough to hear the inner plucking of my own musical chord.
I'm being called to write, and so I'm writing.
Oh, and I've also officially launched a Patreon page, so if you'd like to support my work, there are tiers as low as $3/month.