This post has been in my drafts for over 6 months.

During last year’s hiatus, I became aware that there are some aspects of myself that I choose to share on cbmused.com but hold back from my friends and family. Writing is one of them, and I’m not referring to the notion of keeping a secret blog under an alias. So much of my free time has been taken up with writing. What have you been doing lately, Cléa? People often ask, and I mumble something about being busy and pursuing hobbies like photography.

But why not writing?

Writing is a lonely activity. Much time is spent alone at the keyboard, staring out the window and little time if any is spent discussing the fruits of one’s creative labour with another person. Understandably, we hold our subjects close to our hearts and become reluctant to share ideas. Writing can make us feel a little withdrawn into a world of fiction in order to lend authenticity to the story. The world around me tends to shed a spotlight on certain parts of the creative process and I find myself integrating fact and fiction particularly into locations I visit.

At times, I even live the story.

So what is the harm if family members, friends, even colleagues knew that I am a writer? If I were a painter or a sketch artist or a musician, would I be hiding my artistic side from them? I think not.

Maybe a change is in the air. The next time I am asked what has been occupying my spare time, I can simply say, “I’m writing a novel.” It’s not as if I would end up giving away the plot or any of the characters.

My mind remains password protected.

* * *

Now I tell people: I write.