Distracted by Distraction: Finding Your Way Back to Creativity

It’s been a while since I’ve sat down to write. And this afternoon when I finally saw a space in my day that I wanted to devote to my writing, it was as if everything from my rumbling stomach to my messy desk conspired to keep me from the page.

I must have spent an hour or more doing anything but writing, including numerous trips downstairs to get a drink, spar with my husband, empty my office garbage, organize my files, and I even made a phone call to my publisher about renewing my distribution for a book that I wrote two years ago.

Distractions And The Search For Space

Has it really been that long?

And then there was the question of where would I do this elusive writing? I thought about and then ruled out my desk on my Pilates ball, the dock, the dining room table, until finally I settled on where I sat writing this from my office couch.

I can hear birds chirping out the window, and if I look over my shoulder, I can see the gray lake tempting me to come out and play. Even pulling weeds in the driveway seemed like a good idea at one point.

It’s 5 16, almost time to eat. The cursor blinks happily as I type each word, pulsing, steady, keeping time. Waiting? A steady companion or an impatient bully showing me just where I stopped or encouraging me to keep going.

I love seeing the words form on the blank page, but do they mean anything?

Cursor Pressure And Self Doubt

Are they good enough?

524 still writing. I am so tired. I can hear my husband out weed whacking now. Ah, a worthy distraction.

I’m editing my stream of consciousness now, watching as like a pacman, the cursor eats my words. Blinking patiently, it waits until my next thought directs my fingers to the keys once more.

Something starts to stir inside of me. A connection to the rhythm of what I write. Unattached to what it’s supposed to be, I start to type more freely, enjoying the gentle clicking sound of the keys and the heat of my MacBook on my laptop.

Finding Rhythm And Slipping Into Flow

I’m reminded how unsettled I’ve felt in my personal life lately, and consider how that may be affecting me more than I realized.

Grace begins to descend as I settled into my corner of my room writing these words. The harsh sound of the weed whacker pulls me out of my creative reverie with a shock and the realization that I might have actually been in the flow for a few moments.

I’m typing more quickly now, grateful for reconnecting with this part of me and feeling my creative hunger surpass the procrastinator’s empty stomach.

It’s 540 now. There’s a smile on my face, a smile that knows I’m where I belong in this moment.

And before rereading what I’ve written, I tell myself that this is enough.

I am tired. I am struggling with some things in my life. Things will always threaten to get in the way of my creativity.

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