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Writing vs. The World: A Battle I’m Clearly Losing

Writing vs. The World: A Battle I’m Clearly Losing

Last updated on: November 1, 2024 at 6:35 am by Ellen Fannon

Writing vs. The World: A Battle I’m Clearly Losing 2024-10-07T13:37:39-04:00 Ellen Fannon

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Ancient Writers’ Obstacles to Writing

Parchment

I need some parchment to write on/image courtesy of Pixabay

I often marvel at how the Bible was written. In an earlier blog, I mentioned how the ancient writers not only had to capture divine revelations before they slipped away, but they also had to procure their own writing materials, such as animal skins and fish bones. As if that wasn’t challenging enough, they often wrote under adverse circumstances. John wrote from exile on a treeless barren island with nothing but rocks and volcanoes. Paul penned letters from a prison cell. How did they even manage to procure writing materials? When I think about these challenges, my own frustrations with writing seem trivial.

Compared to MY Obstacles

I realize I’m no James Patterson, the best-selling author in the world, as my writing, to date, has been more of an expensive hobby than an income producer. Nevertheless, the serious pursuit of writing takes a lot of time. The downside is my writing expenses still vastly exceed my writing income. That’s okay. I’m getting my name out there and having fun. Yet those around me still view my writing as a pastime; therefore, constant interruptions are okay. It’s not like writing is money, so there is no need to respect my time at the computer in the same way as, say, my time at my paying job.

For example, I was trying to finish a paragraph for an article I was writing a while back. I was finally getting into the “zone” when my son called needing a ride from school because his sports practice was canceled. Add to that a constant stream of robocalls—Cathy at the credit bureau, Denise from the resort where I stayed (did not), the IRS telling me to call a garbled number right away or there would be legal action taken against me, or the Fraternal Order of Police wanting a donation. Not to mention having to run down to the laundry room every ten minutes to check on the permanent-press clothes in the dryer. Meanwhile, my husband, in a Percocet haze from a kidney stone, was watching videos on his computer next to me as I tried to focus. I just wanted five uninterrupted minutes!

Woman overwhelmed with three kids

I just want five minutes to finish this article!/image courtesy of pexels

I’m Trying to Write! I Can’t Focus on Dinner Right Now!

When my younger son wandered in at 4:30 and asked for the third time what was for dinner, and I told him for the third time I didn’t know, I was starting to get a little irritated.

“Can I make myself a frozen pizza?” he asked.

“No, you will eat what the rest of us eat,” I snapped. Whatever that would be.

I just wanted to finish that one paragraph before forcing my brain to go in another direction, like what to make for dinner. With a solid, uninterrupted five to ten minutes, I should have been able to knock out those last few sentences.

But two minutes later, my husband piped up, “Did you have anything particular in mind for dinner?”

Really? After thirty years of marriage, he should know that if I had something planned, it would be simmering in the crock pot, baking in the oven, or thawing on the kitchen counter. Since there was none of the above, the answer should have been obvious. No, I did not have anything particular in mind for dinner. I was planning on finishing this one paragraph and then foraging the pantry, freezer, and refrigerator for a quick dinner option.

Instead of saying this, however, I hit “save” and stomped into the kitchen, grumbling, “I guess I’ll go make dinner since everyone keeps bugging me about it!”

“That’s not what I meant,” he replied, wounded. “I meant, was there anything I could do to help with dinner?”

Right. As if I need the guilt on my conscience for not taking care of my hungry, kidney stone-passing husband in his time of need. And like I was going to allow my Percocet-brain husband to cook when he forgets to turn off the stove on his best days. What he really meant but was afraid to say was more along the lines of, “I’m hungry. Are you ever going to get up from the computer and make dinner?”

The one good thing to come out of that frustrating afternoon was one more idea for a blog. Of course, when I sat down to write it after dinner before going to church, my younger son kept running into the bedroom to interrupt me, the phone kept ringing, and the dogs needed to go out. The unfinished magazine article got put on indefinite hold.

I’ll bet James Patterson doesn’t have these problems.

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