From tiny islets to huge continents, any landmass totally surrounded by water is an island. Islands fascinate me, especially the smaller ones. Separated from other landmasses, they strike me as places of independence. I’m a fairly private person so when I see an island sporting an abode I am attracted to its cosy seclusion. I don’t imagine I’d enjoy living year-round in such isolation, but as a writing retreat it has great appeal.
There is a sense in which the artistic part of my soul is like an island, a private place hidden away with its contents made visible only when I choose to reveal them.
The writing profession is frequently referred to as being a lonely one. When I write in isolation I tend to feel cut off from others in the writing community and yet, like an island, there is an unseen connectivity. Beneath the surface we are all grounded in the common purpose of communication.
“No man is an island entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main. If a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe is the less, as well as if a promontory were, as well as if a manor of thy friend’s or of thine own were: any man’s death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind….”
[John Donne, 1572-1631]
Do you feel alone as you write or are you aware of a connection?