Writing is an interesting occupation. It requires a level of concentration that isn’t always easy to reach.
I sit down to write but realize my coffee cup is empty. Off I go to my espresso machine.
I sit down to write and the phone rings. I jump up to answer, but it’s someone trying to sell me a duct cleaning service–we don’t have ducts.
I sit down to write and the dog barks. I jump up to calm her. I don’t want her to bother the neighbors.
I sit down to write but a dirty sock catches my eye. I put aside my computer, dig through the hamper, and throw a load of clothes into the washing machine.
I sit down to write and my stomach growls. I go to grab a bite to eat and realize I’m out of groceries. I grab the car keys and head out the door. Writing will have to wait. I have things I need to do.
Then magic happens.
I sit down to write and as I type the story grabs me, shakes me around, and tosses me in the air. My surroundings fade away. I am no longer in my makeshift office in a dark corner of my bedroom, but in a world where anything can happen. A world of my creation.
The phone rings, but I don’t hear.
The dog barks, but she is just a far off note from another time and place.
My coffee grows cold, my stomach growls, and chores remain undone.
None of that matters.
I’m meeting new people.
Traveling in a distant world.
Imagining a different time and place.
Unraveling the mysteries of science and invention.
Building a universe unlike any other, one where I make the rules and control fate.
I’m in the zone and all is right in the world.
All because I sit down to write.