I’ll say it again: Sometimes writing is better than life. When it’s going good, all you want to do, all you want to think about, all you want to pay attention to, is the work, and that peculiar head-space that the work depends on. Life, people, events–none of it compares. The loneliness of the writer is not some unfortunate side effect, at least not for me. It’s what I prefer a lot of the time. Actually, alone is not loneliness.