I spend a lot of my weeks being social – mostly for work, sometimes to maintain my friendships – and therefore spend a lot of weekends doing what I call “hiding out.”

People tend not to believe me when I say that I’m a bit of a social-phobe. “Remember that time you danced on the bar at ____?” they ask. “What about that time you jumped up on stage with ____?” Or “you’ve always been comfortable talking to large groups.” Not really. I was pretending to be an extrovert. I was in my early 20s. I had yet to give up the drink. Being 25-plus-vodka-plus-no boundaries = what appears to be an extrovert. But I’m not. It really became apparent when I stopped drinking and realized how much I had relied on that cocktail or two (or five) to get me through a social situation.

I think most writers are introverts. Writing is a solitary occupation; we gravitate to it for a reason. We spend a lot of our time on the sidelines, observing and listening and not really participating. A few years ago, my boss (who is also an introvert) loaned me her copy of The Introvert Advantage: How to Thrive in an Extrovert World. I can’t remember everything in the book, but I do remember this: In order to flourish, introverts need to add up the amount of time they spend socializing, double it, and spend that much time alone. “Recovering,” so to speak.

Because I now have a “remedy,” socializing (and speaking to large groups and networking and doing all of the things that are part of my job as an editor and now an author) is a lot easier. I don’t always have to pop a Xanax before I lead a workshop or do a book reading/signing. But I do spend a lot of weekends in silence – silence punctuated by NPR, Weekend America, DVDs (this weekend I watched “Into the Wild” and “The Savages” – both good ones), limited phone calls, and the occasional family gathering. I only go places where there are no expectations for me to be “on” or perform.

So yes, I am a weekend hermit. And then I’m ready for my week, to be around people, to be a participant.