Having a routine can be comforting. It can create a structure that clears away the debris–you know, all those pesky moments when your brain power is consumed by the necessity of making decisons–so that you have a clear field to do what you really want to do.
I have a wonderful routine that helps me write. I wake up, go straight upstairs to my computer, and dive right in. I don’t eat, I don’t talk to anyone, I just write. After about 30 minutes or so of writing I am so into the story that it is safe for me to run downstairs and grab a bite to eat and a cup of coffee.
The problem with a routine such as this is that any little thing can throw it off. If anyone talks to me before I have those first 30 minutes in, I’m lost.
Which is why I am writing this blog instead of working on my book. I conversed this morning. The routine is worthless for the day.
Note to self: I need to create a secondary routine, one that can be used on days the primary routine will not work. I must discover a way to dive into writing even after human interaction.
The only alternative is to become a hermit and live in a cave, which I don’t think I would enjoy because I detest dank, dark places where a rock-slide might trap me forever.
And, to be perfectly honest, I like talking to people. I would go crazy all alone with only moss as company. And a few bats.