Feeling Invisible

The NSA FilesI’ve been trying to figure out why I’m in love with writing. I mean, you have to be in love with something in order to stay with it for over thirty years, among rejection after rejection, publication in small magazines with few readers, promises of publication that never come about, and even regular publication where reviews can be harsh, misinformed, or just plain stupid.


Having said all that, there are still the publication of poems and stories in great little magazines that I can be proud of; the good reviews, of which there are many; and the satisfaction of knowing that I reached someone out there in the lost populous.


But the one thing I seldom look at is my affinity toward being alone, even in a crowd. As much as I teach writing, lecture on marketing, and work with people and horses, I love to be alone in a room with nothing but my characters, a half-written poem, or new ideas to work on. I like the feeling of being invisible in a crowded room, so that I can watch how others act and listen to their conversations. I enjoy walking in the woods and when I pass someone they don’t say anything or look at me because they just can’t see me.


At moments when I feel invisible, I sense that I’m more in tune with myself and the world around me, the natural world. I sense that I fit in. I like being a part of the whole, and not some specific piece that demands attention. And this, I believe, is how I think about my writing.


I want someone to read one of my novels, stories, or poems and feel as though it belongs to them. I want to disappear inside the work itself, never to be noticed. I want others to forget my background, my theories, my beliefs, and soak up my words until they are part of the reader, a part they can’t let go of, or ignore, any longer.


When I’m at my most creative, writing that piece that has me totally engulfed in the work, I feel invisible to the rest of the world. I do believe that we’re all part of the whole, but I also separate from that idea way too often. When I’m ready to die at the end of my life, it would be so cool if I just faded away. One minute I’m there and the next I’m gone. Perhaps into one of my own stories. Ten Months In Wonderland

Terry Persun writes in many genres, including historical fiction, mainstream, literary, and science fiction/fantasy. He is a Pushcart nominee. His latest poetry collection is “And Now This”. His novels, “Wolf’s Rite” and “Cathedral of Dreams” were ForeWord magazine Book of the Year finalists in the science fiction category, and his novel “Sweet Song” won a Silver IPPY Award. His latest science fiction space opera is, “Hear No Evil”, his latest fantasy is “Doublesight”, his latest mainstream/literary novel is “Ten Months in Wonderland”.

Site: http://www.TerryPersun.wix.com/terrypersun

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Twitter: https://twitter.com/tpersun

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1 Comment

Filed under Reading, Terry Persun, Writing & Editing

One response to “Feeling Invisible

  1. Thank you for the eloquent insight into the mystery that keeps us writing.

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