This past winter, my pen collected dust as I spent the majority of my time as a recluse, basically devoid of any creative productivity.
I suffer from a seasonal depression that makes keeping up any social responsibilities seem impossible during the darker half of the year: so, not only did I not write for the better part of five months, but I didn't meet with any writers either.
It wasn't until this Tuesday that I realized just how dry I had become from the lack of creative support I would have gotten from meeting with my fellow writers.
As soon as I sat down to literary conversation with other like-minds, I felt plugged-in and the surge of creative juices began to flow through me, once again.
And I realized how wrong it had been for me, how unhealthy to my mental and creative health it had been, to deprive myself of this for such a long period.
In this I've learned to appreciate how truly beneficial it is to socialize with other writers on a regular basis: it truly does fuel the fire that burns in me to write - a fire I will need desperately come next winter.