About a year ago I decided that if I thought I wanted to write fiction that I had to take it seriously – give it a real shot. That meant writing every day if possible, keeping track of my words, and submitting stories – which meant actually finishing them.

There was a major mistake in my plan. Like others, I have a day job and plenty of other time siphons. I was okay with that, I just had to give up some of the things I liked to do to make this a priority. It sounds good, and I did it. I was disciplined. I finished stories and went to writerly events. I even read books about writing. I had no idea how wrong I was.

Reading was my favorite self-indulgent past time since I can remember. As a kid it was a guilty pleasure. I hid in closets and bathrooms and snuck books out of the house under my shirt when my mom made me ‘go out any play.’ It was anti-social behavior for sure, which was just fine for an introvert. I was encouraged to read, but it was always in place of watching TV or other less important things.

I was so serious about writing, that I gave up reading fiction. Reading and loving fiction is the reason I wanted to write in the first place. What was I thinking! I’m back to the reading board. If I can’t make time to read, I don’t have time to write.

Photo by Rachel Sian

When I started writing I had this romantic vision of drinking coffee and writing on my laptop in a bustling coffee shop. Then I heard a podcast that said to avoid coffee shops and public places at all cost, they were too distracting.  So then I dreamed of idyllic settings. All of these visions included a view, natural fragrance, and solitude. What I didn’t imagine was how distracting nature is.

My first trip to a little cabin in the woods was a colossal failure. My friend who loaned me the cabin was so excited by the prospect of someone working on their great manuscript in his house-even if my great manuscript was a high fantasy travel yarn. There were beautiful views and I found myself gazing out at them frequently…instead of writing.

Then of course, there is the distraction of those I love. My dog and husband get so sad when I leave them behind, that despite the best intention to seclude myself, I always bring them along. It was on this woodsy cabin retreat that I realized the only thing that mattered about the environment was that it was away from those I cared about. It didn’t matter if they were in another room or coming and going while ‘giving me my space.’ I was too attuned to their actions to let my brain stay in a writing haze, and I never want to be one of those people who snap at them for wanting to see me or talk to me.

So, I took some time off work and went to the library to use a quiet room. I was disappointed by the 2hr limit as I took a week off to write like a maniac. 2 hours a day wasn’t going to cut it. So I would write more when I got home, but just being in that space where the dishes and laundry live, was too distracting. I found that those 2 hours of library time were more productive than an eight hour period of my normal writing life. I needed to get that 2 hour window into my regular routine.

I started waking up earlier so I could write before work, but then the loved ones woke up early too, with the best intentions of giving me quiet time.

So, this week, I went back to the initial dream of the coffee shop. I went somewhere I don’t know the barista, don’t care about the patrons, and let my mind blissfully block out coffee orders and conversations. I don’t want to be away from those I care about, so I set a 2hr limit. I’ll be trying it all week.