I was an artsy nerd growing up. Even that description might be flattering. I wasn’t particularly good at geeky things; I dabbled in a little bit of everything, so I found myself stretched a little thin. Predominantly, I wanted to be a writer. I came home from school eagerly and finished my first novel in grade seven. But the overarching theme was that I was a hermit, and I believed I had to be.
As artists of any kind, it’s easy to fall into the mentality that to be a genius, you must be a shut-in. Winter is fast-approaching and you might be thinking it sounds fantastic to curl up in bed all day with nothing but the intimidating blank page in front of you. If you’ve been alive in the past fifty years, you’ll have heard the myths surrounding Holden Caufield’s creator, J.D. Salinger. Other supposed lone wolf icons include Vincent Van Gogh, Daniel Day-Lewis, Herman Hesse, Georgia O’Keefe, and George Orwell. Since most of our artistic heroes and icons are perpetuated as loners, underdogs, and socially awkward introverts, it’s easy to forget that this is far from a universal trait. Collaboration, communication, and community tend to be understated in order to uphold the saviour figure — what these artists give up in their personal lives they give back tenfold to the public.
That there needs to be a divide between motherhood and other traditionally female occupations is another myth of the hermit writer variety. Within this framework, art is seen as an obsession, in which no other aspect of life can truly be appreciated. The myth of the hermit writer also makes a dangerous statement about discipline. Famous writers were not simply waiting, alone in their rooms, for inspiration to strike. William Faulkner said: “I only write when I am inspired. Fortunately, I am inspired at 9 o’clock every morning.”