Are you writing?
During a moment of discouragement this morning—others writers have better focus than me, more time to read great literature, no three-year-old pulling love and attention away from the page—I flashed back to college, to what I now realize is a seminal moment in my development as a writer. The world looked bleak (Was it my miserable relationship with my boyfriend? The overwhelming stress of senior year? The overcooked green beans in the cafeteria?); I complained about everying in great detail to my friend Heather, a brilliant mathematician. She finally interrupted me. “Elizabeth, are you writing?” No, I wasn’t. I knew immediately Heather saw an equation I hadn’t: Elizabeth minus writing equals misery. Solitude, a pen and paper were key to my mental health. From that moment forth writing has been an essential activity, saving me thousands in therapy bills. (Thank you, Heather.) Not that writing solves all my problems, but…