Last week I blogged about the loneliness that seems to be part of a writer’s life. I got the idea because I was feeling isolated a few weeks ago, forgotten in my silent room, alone with my ambition to tell a story and the awkwardness with which I was going about it. No one read the post, or commented on it, at any rate, making me feel even more set apart from the world. Hello? Is anyone there?

This week, I’m sighing for another reason. I can’t find one hour to get back to my deliciously quiet study and the story in progress. A call to come and party with dear friends – authors and bon vivants – visiting from the East Coast, an adorable grandchild who needs admiring and babysitting, a conference to help arrange, a book tour and another appearance…oh, and the sought-after electrician who finally has time on his schedule to fix that sparking pluggie thing.

Some highly accomplished writers I know explain that they have a set, inviolable time to write at least five days a week. Apparently, the world understands. Or, the world is ignored. These people are deservedly more successful than I am. They publish multiple mystery series, create deeply-researched fictional worlds, go on book tours that last months (sneaking away for their writing time in between signings). They are pros.

I’m squinting at my iPhone calendar and the little dots that tell me I have something scheduled every day for the foreseeable future. I am thinking it’s hazardous to say it out loud (like saying you’re going to lose 10 pounds by Christmas) but that I need to get rid of at least half of the dots right this minute and get down to it.

Loneliness is sounding good to me right about now.

Maybe I’ve been sitting at my computer too long, wrestling with words, communicating in emails and tweets, talking only to the people on the page or in my head (sometimes one and the same). Is this the kind of isolation writers and other creative people feel? Do words and the job of parsing them and the emotions and ideas they stand for keep the world at a little distance? And, is that essential to being a writer?

“An artist is always alone – if he is an artist. No, what the artist needs is loneliness.” – Henry Miller

Okay, Henry, I buy that this experience, which is deeply uncomfortable at times, is connected to creativity. But is it that I create to fill the void, or does the void exist because I spend my time with phantoms, conjectures, and ideas I am trying to capture long enough to illuminate, however briefly?

“I live with the people I create and it has always made my essential loneliness less keen.” –  Carson McCullers

Yeah, Carson, the feeling of standing outside of something desirable, of being that face pressed against the window, can be offset for a time by pounding away at the keyboard, figuring out what my characters must do next and getting them to move forward with their – my, really – lives. Is this solely a writer’s disease, I wonder?

“Being an outsider is the one thing we all have in common.” – Alice Hoffman

Should that make me feel better, Alice? does it mean the grocery clerk and the dentist and the people closest to me have these same moments of looking at familiar sights or being in everyday situations and suddenly perceiving themselves as visitors from another country?

“[It is]… in this loneliness that the deepest activities begin. It is here that you discover act without motion, labor that is profound repose, vision in obscurity, and, beyond all desire, a fulfillment whose limits extend to infinity.” – Thomas Merton

Discovering “vision in obscurity” – I like that. It stands quite well for the quest that draws me to perch outside of the zone of ordinary comforts and reach for something more, something different.

Thank you, Writers. I’m not worthy of standing in your shadows, and I may not like the way I feel right now, but I guess it’s part of what I have to go through in order to create. At least I’m in good company.

Thank you, universe!

How often have you noticed that when you are busiest, things get busier? I can hear the universe laughing right now. I’m tinkering with one manuscript, writing the first draft of something completely different, preparing for an intensive writing workshop, meeting with writer friends, scheduling participation at Bouchercon, and working on a non-profit event that takes place at the end of the month. So, the timing is perfect for a handful of new readings, signings, appearances at book clubs, and a series of voice therapy sessions following throat surgery. (My upcoming events are on this site under “Events.”)

If you’re a reader or a writer, make note that Bouchercon by the Bay 2010 will be a blast – an international crime writers’ and readers’ love fest October 14-17 here in San Francisco. The planners have knocked themselves out to create a fantastic time for all. www.bcon2010.com.

Also for readers and writers of all kinds of creative work, the annual and wildly popular Litquake takes place October 1-9 in San Francisco. It’s damn near an orgy of literary pleasures. Check it out at www.litquake.com.

The fall season has begun in earnest and I’m smiling right back at the universe!

I’m re-posting a guest piece I did in early July at Fresh Fiction, with thanks for their invitation to share some thoughts about a familiar but appealing character in fiction: the perennial bad boy.

He can be swathed in a Victorian cloak like Heathcliff, a Regency jacket like Darcy, or a short sleeved shirt with a pack of cigarettes rolled into the sleeve like James Dean, but we all know him for who he is – the quintessential bad boy. He’s the one we want to hate, or at least to shun. He woos us, then drops us, hurts our feelings, then asks for forgiveness with those appealing little boy eyes.

What is it about bad boys, anyway? Are they born knowing they can get away with a lot because they have long eyelashes? Do they figure it out in kindergarten? Sixth grade? Because they sure know it by high school.

It’s a fascinating character type, and one I had no intention of exploring in my debut mystery, MURDER IN THE ABSTRACT, which came out in late June. But I invented a back story for my protagonist, Dani O’Rourke, so she would fit into the high society world, but as a bit of an outsider: She was once married to the scion of a wealthy family, a young man with two Porsches, several hundred million dollars, and a roving eye.

Okay, that got her into the museum where she worked as a fundraiser, raising money from the social set she had traveled with during her marriage, before her ex became entranced with a synthetically endowed underwear model. But, wait! Before I knew it, her ex had wormed his way into a scene. I could have put up with that except that he charmed his way into another scene and, before I knew it, he was right in the heart of the story, threatening to weaken Dani’s resolve as she concentrated on figuring out why someone pushed an artist to his death from her office window and tried to frame her for the murder.

There were times when Dani had more resolve than I did. I mean, $450 million is nothing to sneeze at and Dickie – Richard Argetter III – was trying so hard to be helpful. I found myself liking him and making excuses for his brattiness. How could this be? I made him up. He had no right to think he could smile and push that errant bit of hair out of his eyes in my presence. Who was in charge here?

This is what characters do. They leap off the page, take their fates in their own hands, and start driving the story. Certainly, Dani’s and Dickie’s relationship at the end of the book is not what I thought it would be when I began the novel. At its best, that’s one of the great mysteries of writing fiction and also a great joy. We authors find ourselves readers of prose that’s appearing on the computer as we read. (There is revision, of course, which is a lot less fun.)