As all REAL WRITERS are encouraged to do these days, I’ve been working hard to “define my niche.” I have looked for that place that is only-mine-that-no-other-human-being-has-ever-spoken-from-or-written-about-or-preached-on-before-this-very-moment. I’ve been looking for the niche that is MINE. And using this approach, I’ve meandered down a few of the paths that in their own particular and partial ways are ME.
And I’ve looked to see if at end of any of them there happens to be a writing desk. By a fireplace. With a coffee maker. And a window. A window overlooking a meadow with lovely trees and a mountain in the background with the sun always rising (or setting) behind it. I listened for gentle music playing, (but not too loudly because that would block the absolutely smooth flow of my writing.) And there I could sit with a steady flow of inspiration and insight that I would then offer the world from MY NICHE.
But here’s the problem with the niche approach: the last thing I want is to establish or lay claim to a place that is only mine. I’m just not that entertaining, or resourceful, or insightful by myself. Besides, I can get stuck there too easily, digging holes rather than shining lights or learning new things or connecting with people who have something to share that I need to hear, or see, or get smacked up the side of the head by.
And so I don’t need a room of my own. That’s not what WritingItOut is meant to be. Writing for me is never an attempt to carve out MY PLACE. It’s more like a “reach out from the inside,” in the words of Peter Gabriel. It’s a way to connect through your eyes by way of my words.
I write to be with.