Writing is a yin-yang kind of thing. On the one hand, writing — especially fiction, where everything’s coming from some internal wellspring — is an isolated business. We need quiet time. Uninterrupted time. No phones. No e-mail. No knocks on the door. Life needs to stop for a while so we can get off and do what we do.
At the same time, we need the stimulation of conversation, of observation, of a cacophony of input from the outside. It keeps us honest. Gives us the voices and insight we need. How can we write about the human condition (and even urban fantasy is about the human condition) without being a part of it? How can we get any writing done without stepping away from it.
Yin and yang. Just makes me want to scream sometimes.