When I start to really get into writing a story I go into what I call a ‘writer’s zone’ where all distractions are muted. Time slips away and my surroundings blur into the images in my mind. This is creating something from nothing at its finest.
There is no television show or video game that can compare to playing with characters and scenes inside my own mind. There is no illicit drug or alcoholic drink that can take me to the places my imagination can. The writer’s zone is a place all for myself.
Sometimes I regret that I cannot share the zone with anyone else. My wife doesn’t understand why I sometimes get miffed when she calls me out of the office for such trivial matters as taking out the trash or catching an errant fly buzzing the kitchen sink. My biggest problem is once that bubble of solitary thought is burst it’s very hard to re-inflate it.
My wife doesn’t understand that the stinky trash may have just disrupted the deeply spiritual connection between Nathan and Miriam in DROP OUT or allowed Tommy Fielding to murder another innocent victim in DEGENERATES (had to get some plugs in here somewhere). I’ve heard athletes talk of the zone, but that’s a physical dimension. For me, the zone is purely mental.
Right now, I feel the tingly beginnings of the zone coming on and a writing session will soon follow. I already checked that the trash cans were empty and no insects have stowed away in the kitchen corner in predatory wait for a forgotten morsel, so I’m good to go.
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