I don’t know about you, but there’s something about an empty, quiet house that disturbs my creative process. I know, I know. Common sense would indicate the opposite. A quiet, distraction-free environment should be conducive to free-flowing prose, world-building and plot points.
Instead, I find myself caught up in the minutiae of everyday life. Laundry, defrost something for dinner, run off to the store for a few items, the never-ending phone calls from nobody I ever heard of and have no intention of speaking to… Escaping to the hubbub and controlled chaos of my favorite Starbucks is less distracting.
Which is where I currently sit. My favorite drink (grande Flat White with an add-shot and heavy cream) at my elbow. Outside the window, a trio of local cops have a couple of dudes on the curb after a pat-down. Eventually, they cite them and let them go. I amuse myself wondering what type of offense they allegedly committed, and whether the one with the awesome dreads, capri-length pants and sweatshirt with cut-off sleeves will find his way into the story.
Conversation hums around me. The air is filled with the scent of coffee and the hiss of steam. My chair rocks–the slightest bit–on the uneven tile floor. Customers of all types pass me on their way to the counter while I compose the new scenes, develop plot and character arcs for my protagonists, build more complex and believable bad guys.
If I had a daily target word count, I’d be close by now. But it’s cheating to count blog posts. That said, my characters are calling. They want to know how I’m going to get them out of this latest dilemma. The only way to find out is to dive back into the story.
I don’t know about you, but that’s how I get my write on.