I’ve just returned from the Festival of Faith and Writing.
It’s wonderful to spend three days winging from workshop to workshop soaking in the words of all sorts of writers. Add to that seeing dear friends and friendly acquaintances and it is so rich.
And yet a fatigue always sets in. To start, it’s the introvert’s Olympics. I am an introvert in the strictest sense: I get my energy being alone, so constantly being in a crowd, even a crowd of fellow word nerds is exhausting. Invariably another fatigue overcomes me that can be best attributed to overexposure to over earnestness.
When you gather a pack of writers you will hear quite a bit about the difficulties the writer faces. God, and anyone who has sat down in front of a blank screen to write something true and good, knows they exist and yet, I’m really turned off by overwrought speakers.
When we talk about writing, no matter how it might feel, regardless of how scary it can be, at the end of the day, unless we’re imbedded with the military, most of us are sitting in a chair and facing a screen in a safe and comfortable space.
And that is hard enough.
We don’t do ourselves any favors being histrionic.
The writers who resonate with me the most are those who are deeply serious about the world, but about themselves, not so much.