yesterday, i went to the coffeeshop to write. i do that sometimes. i’ve written several stories at the coffeeshop and then there’s editing. so, i’m trying to write a story and it’s not coming. i’ve got some thinking to do. there i am, researching, writing dialogue out by hand and getting in the groove when, of all things, the woman sitting to my left talks to me. “are you a teacher?’ she asks. i startle. someone is talking to me. “no. are you?” i ask because she kinda looks like a teacher. and she is and we talk a little while about teaching. she asks about my writing. i even manage to describe the shape of the piece i’m working on.
but it’s an interruption and the groove i was dropping into is gone, vanished, vaporized. i recover by writing out what i’ve got and editing. editing soothes me.
i have a friend that, when she sees me at the coffeeshop, ignores me because she knows, intuitively, she’s a distraction.
writers need a life because it’s a good thing to get out of your head. and that’s exactly what interrupts the groove.
the trouble with writing is living.
here’s an excellent article. read it and weep.