On The Home Front

Distractions abound. If I need a ready excuse to shift my focus away from writing, I can find one within arms reach. I share an office with my husband, my two children, the dog, and my daughter's clothing, toys and books. The office is listed on the plans as "bedroom 3" but I once saw it's dimensions listed in a home magazine as a small closet.

We've lived in this 900 square-foot house for 9 years. We had a toddler and a newborn when we bought it - our first house. With each passing year, the house shrinks exponentially. My son is taller than I am now and grudgingly tolerant about sharing a room with his little sister. The time has come to either move or remodel.

Many a writer has continued to pound away on his or her novel amidst carpenters and buzz-saws, so I won't be the first to write with earplugs or iPod if we choose to remodel. Nor will I be the first novelist to steal moments at the computer when I should be unpacking boxes of kitchen utensils, should we decide to move.

What's wearing me down is the indecision. There's a constant buzz in my ear and it's coming from my conscience, not my characters. I haven't determined why the decision is weighing heavy on my conscience, but it is.

So...to get back to my point about distractions. I hit a snag in my writing - a difficult sentence, the inability to spin a story from a prompt - and it's too easy to let my mind drift to distractions. An email from my mother, a call from a realtor, or a glance at the Turbo Tax awaiting use, and my attention shifts away. Next thing I know I'm back at the computer and the whole day is gone, lost in distractions, and the writing snag is still waiting in front of the blinking cursor. Have you ever noticed that the blink of the cursor is the same tempo as the Walk/Don't Walk signs?