I’m hunched over my laptop, my eyes glued to the screen, and my fingers flying over the keyboard.  The sound is like music, little keys clicking and then the rhythmic boom of the spacebar, double tapped after every period.  The world around me is disappearing.  It’s almost like I’m perched beside myself, watching the flow of ideas, and for once, the words are playing nice with each other.  It’s like magic.  It’s like a drug.  My veins are chock full of letters, my heart is spilling them out of my fingertips.  The muse has cast her spell over me; she’s singing along to the sound of stories.

And then.  It happens.

Someone bursts into my room to tell me we’re ordering Chinese food.  The spell is broken.  The words vanish, and it’s like they were never there.  The muse lets her eyelids droop, and then falls fast asleep.

My muse
ency123.com; My muse rolling her eyes at me.  

Yeah, sure, I’d like some Lo Mein with a side of get-out-can’t-you-see-I’m-writing?

I can pause and answer a question when I’m doing finite homework.  I could even answer on the unlikely chance that I have taken to one of my exercising phases and I’m jogging on the treadmill.  Pausing while reading a book?  Annoying, because with my luck, I was just getting to the good part.

But pausing while writing?

Hell no.

I don’t care if the house is on fire.  I don’t care if it’s raining puppies.

I am busy.  Words do not just fly out of my head in the correct sequencing just whenever.  You are ruining my short story or goofy blog post.

Of course I want spring rolls.

I need a sign on my door I can flip over when I’m writing, to let my family know that A) yes, I am writing, B) Just order whatever, and C) No, you can’t talk to me for just, like, two seconds.

But what about you?  What happens when people interrupt you when you’re in the zone?  Let me know in the comments or whatever.  Or don’t.  I’m not your mom.


7 thoughts on “My Pet Peeve

  1. First off, that was quite an interesting piece of work because all I ever read is EROTICA.

    NOW, let me just mention: Hell yeah, I hate when I’m interrupted! People don’t respect the VIRTUOSO’S art–the painting of his/her masterpiece.

    Again, that was nice work, my dear. Keep it up…


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