I like people. One of my favourite activities is a meal and a few drinks with good company. I have friends. I have a terrific housemate. I’ve been in happy long term relationships. But at my core, I am a solitary, introspective person. I can easily spend weeks completely alone, only staying in touch with messages and social media. Or not, if I don’t feel like it.
I don’t know if all writers are like this, but I suspect a lot of them are, at least in part. Writers generally read a lot, and reading is a solitary activity. Locations are important in my books and I spend time taking pictures so that I can describe a location well enough to put my readers ‘inside’ it. Companions are contra-indicated for taking endless photographs of run-down buildings. Companions also quickly run out of interest in hearing about what my characters have been up to, and they even more quickly get bored spending time with someone who is stuck in her own head and itching to write things down.
Some writers probably have regular mealtimes, and maintain normalish 9-5 working hours. Not this one. I work best between 1pm and 9pm. As the day progresses I feel my creative brain coming to life. It would be a lot easier to get up at 5am and write then, but that’s not how I am and at age mumble, mumble, I’ve come to terms with it.
So, what with one thing and another, living alone is the way to go … for me. Alone =/= lonely. I know that for some people, being physically alone is deeply miserable, but I’m not like that. My characters and stories need time to gestate and grow while I am undisturbed by other humans. Don’t be surprised if I’ve left the country, alone but for a spare pair of jeans, a computer and a pile of notebooks.