In case you were wondering, I don’t own a remote cabin on a thousand acres of land or a private island accessible only by private jet. I’m not Bill Gates or Gilligan.

Distractions are a constant challenge for a writer. I’m not talking about Facebook and other social media. That’s part of networking, connecting with friends, and trying to promote my brand as a writer. It’s important; so is this blog. I’m referring to the other stuff that is just part of living.

Let me back up for a moment and  say that my life is relatively uncomplicated. I live in a nice neighborhood that is relatively quiet. I don’t have small children living at home. I’m retired from the corporate world, so my daily schedule is pretty flexible. Still, I do have distractions that I have to overcome if I hope to write something worth reading. The children on our street like to play outside. They make noise because they’re children. Although it’s distracting, I don’t complain because I’m not Mr. Wilson and this isn’t a Dennis the Menace comic strip. My wife is likely to call my name or require my attention at any given time. If I’m in the middle of writing a scene, too bad. There are no boundaries as far as she is concerned. Maybe that will change when I make my first million. For now, I spend my days squeezing in my writing between chores, errands, and appointments.

The process of writing is not glamorous. My writing office is the third bedroom in our house. I’m currently distracted because my hands are cold, the desk chair is hard and uncomfortable, and the volume on the television in the living room is loud enough for me to follow the antics of Lucille Ball and Desi Arnaz as I try to conclude this entry.

Okay, I’m done. I’ll work on my new novel later. The clothes in the dryer are finished and my wife is calling. Gotta go.

 

 

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