My Fortress of Solitude

Writing is a solitary business. I had no misnomers about it. Despite my rather outgoing nature, I covet my alone time. There’s nothing more pleasant than to be able to shut out the world and entertain the worlds revolving in my head. Heroes and villains created and destroyed with my flexing grey matter.

I don’t believe in a life without complications. Once all complications are gone, ore than likely you’re being lowered six feet down or being fitted for a furnace. I’m no exception. Busy doesn’t even begin to describe how I feel about my time. Because of that, it’s even more important that I get my solitude.

I don’t know where I was when they were handing out glowing green shards of crystal. I sure didn’t get one. Instead I got power tools (and friends and family). I traded a cape for a tool belt and converted the dilapidated shed in back to a workable living space. One section of it IS ENTIRELY MINE. It’d been a decade since I’ve had my own space. That’s what I get for finding my own personal Lois Lane.

Now I can escape to my FoS whenever I want (alright, whenever Lois lets me). Before I had to go to the locale coffee shop to write. I can’t tell you how irrationally pissed I would get if it was crowded and my normal seat was taken.

Well not anymore.

I’m free to create within my Kryptonite-colored walls. Tell me about your FoSs. Do you have a place carved out for solidarity?

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