{"id":5527,"date":"2014-07-09T00:05:08","date_gmt":"2014-07-09T07:05:08","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/nettelhorst.com\/blog1\/?p=5527"},"modified":"2014-07-08T16:10:03","modified_gmt":"2014-07-08T23:10:03","slug":"distraction","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/nettelhorst.com\/blog1\/2014\/07\/09\/distraction\/","title":{"rendered":"Distraction"},"content":{"rendered":"<p>\tSometimes writing is both a joy and a breeze.  Like an athlete \u201cin the zone\u201d, it seems effortless: the words pour onto the page like water. At such moments the writing process is entirely \u201cfun\u201d and not job-like at all.<\/p>\n<p>\tUnfortunately, those big bangs of creation are incredibly rare.  If I depended upon being \u201cin the zone,\u201d if I required inspiration, if I needed the muse to strike, if I loitered in anticipation for whatever image someone might use to describe authorship, I\u2019d never get anything done.  This is especially true during those weeks and months of the summer when my family is home from school.  <\/p>\n<p>Since I work out of my home\u2014in a bedroom converted and dedicated to writing and nothing else\u2014I am not always alone.  Instead, my wife and all three of my daughters can poke their heads\u2014and their entire bodies\u2014into my office.  Or, as is often the case, especially with my daughters\u2014they can simply poke their voices into it. From a distant room I\u2019ll hear \u201cDaddy!\u201d  Or my cellphone will suddenly ring (yes, they are that lazy).  Then I lift my hands from my keyboard, rise from my broken chair, and wander to wherever they are so that I might help them with their crisis. Too often that crisis can be described with some variant of the phrase \u201cI\u2019m hungry.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\tGetting these poked heads and voices intermittently\u2014sometimes every ten minutes\u2014plays havoc with the writing process.  Writing, most of the time\u2014since the zone rarely appears\u2014is like ditch digging: a task one forces oneself to do.  But it is unlike ditch digging in that while being interrupted from making a hole in the ground doesn\u2019t cause you to lose your train of thought or anything else, when you\u2019re in the middle of a sentence an interruption can be catastrophic.  When I return to my computer I stare at the page and wonder: what was it that I was doing here?  I have to reread the paragraph, reread the page\u2014or two\u2014desperately attempting to remind myself what I was thinking about and where I thought I was heading.   Then, just as the light comes on, another head pokes in, or another voice intrudes, and I\u2019m lost again. And so it goes. <\/p>\n<p>All day long.<\/p>\n<p>\tIt\u2019s amazing that I ever put together a paragraph that is even half-way comprehensible.  But somehow I manage.<\/p>\n<p>\tAnd between the period on that previous sentence and the beginning of this one, my wife called out to me and said, \u201cyou need to check out the YouTube video I just posted on Facebook!\u201d  And then I became aware of the extra noises in my house\u2014like the sound of the television program that my wife is watching while she was sharing that funny cat video.<\/p>\n<p>\tI suppose I could close the door to my office, but that wouldn\u2019t keep them out.  The dog and the cat do not know how to turn a doorknob (and in fact lack thumbs that make it possible, though the cat has figured out how to open doors that have handles instead of knobs: she simply puts her paws on top of it and pushes, assuming she can figure out a way to get up to where the handle is; somehow she usually manages that.  But in any case, the door to my office has a knob, not a handle). However, my wife and children are not so handicapped and in fact have mastered the knob-turning technique.  And even a locked door would not prevent them from texting me or calling my cellphone, or instant messaging me over my computer, or just yelling loudly.  <\/p>\n<p>\tI suppose I could go to the nearby coffee shop.  But all that would do for me is make the interruption that much longer when I had to go help whichever family member suddenly needed my attention.  When I\u2019m not home, the cellphone still lets them reach out to me.  I suppose I could \u201cforget\u201d and leave it behind, but then they\u2019d be angry at me when I finally returned.  And chances are I\u2019d be worried\u2014what if something awful happened?  What if they really needed me? What if a pipe burst?  What if the cat needed its litter box cleaned?  Seriously: both my oldest and youngest daughters have significant mental health issues.  I\u2019m constantly concerned about them and if they are okay.  How could I go away without my cellphone? What sort of monster am I?<\/p>\n<p> I don\u2019t get away often.  My sense of direction is poor anyhow and so it\u2019s probably safer if I just stay home.  Besides, I\u2019ve forgotten where the cinema is.  The family would probably call me in the middle of the film, anyhow.  And besides, can I really afford to go to the movies?  Have you seen ticket prices lately!?<\/p>\n<p>\tWhere was I?  Yes, my wife posted another YouTube video.  And the youngest daughter had a sudden need for popcorn.  What was I writing about?<\/p>\n<p>\tFocus.  It is very difficult to focus when everyone is home.  Of course, when  they\u2019re gone and I\u2019m alone, there\u2019s all those cat videos my wife posted that I should be watching. <\/p>\n<p>\tI like cats.<\/p>\n<p>\tMy cat is meowing.  What does she want?  Is her food dish not quite full enough? <\/p>\n<p>\tWhat was I writing about?<\/p>\n<div class='kindleWidget kindleLight' ><img src=\"https:\/\/nettelhorst.com\/blog1\/wp-content\/plugins\/send-to-kindle\/media\/white-15.png\" \/><span>Send to Kindle<\/span><\/div>","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>Sometimes writing is both a joy and a breeze. Like an athlete \u201cin the zone\u201d, it seems effortless: the words pour onto the page like water. At such moments the writing process is entirely \u201cfun\u201d and not job-like at all. &hellip; <a class=\"more-link\" href=\"https:\/\/nettelhorst.com\/blog1\/2014\/07\/09\/distraction\/\">Continue reading <span class=\"meta-nav\">&rarr;<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_active":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_note":"","_monsterinsights_sitenote_category":0,"_s2mail":"yes"},"categories":[21],"tags":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/nettelhorst.com\/blog1\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/5527"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/nettelhorst.com\/blog1\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/nettelhorst.com\/blog1\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/nettelhorst.com\/blog1\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/nettelhorst.com\/blog1\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=5527"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/nettelhorst.com\/blog1\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/5527\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":5528,"href":"https:\/\/nettelhorst.com\/blog1\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/5527\/revisions\/5528"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/nettelhorst.com\/blog1\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=5527"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/nettelhorst.com\/blog1\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=5527"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/nettelhorst.com\/blog1\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=5527"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}