Swirling Mists of Distraction

There's a reason why writer's crave solitude. When the business of life distracts us, nothing gets accomplished.

I have ideas floating around in my head like the swirling mists created by a fog machine. They reflect the colors of the gaslights. Red mingles with blue, and yellow mingles with green.

But the ideas in my head are distracted as easily as an actor by a flashbulb.

* * *

I'm an auditory learner, so I work best with some sort of background noise. Instrumental music is best, but an old TV show I've seen a million times and therefore don't need to attend works, too. I can watch Little House on the Prairie and type my own version of War and Peace without struggle.

But a TV show that is less familiar? That distracts. And then it mentions samurai swords, and I don't know much about Japanese history so I take a moment to google it. As I read about samurai warriors, it connects to what I know about medieval Europe. And while I'm on-line, I might as well check facebook and my email.

By the time I toggle back to Word, the fog on the stage of my mind has dissipated. Everyone's gone home.

* * *

This is the phenomenon described in Nicholas Carr's The Shallows: What the Internet is Doing to Our Brains. If Ray Bradbury's Fahrenheit 451 is frightening in its predictive accuracy -- TVs as big as a wall, and interactive; happy pills; houses with no front porches -- then Carr's The Shallows is terrifying in its immediacy. The Internet has changed us. In truth, it provides a much-needed service, the easy and cheap access to information and the ability to connect with people around the world.

Unfortunately, we have become its slaves.

I am no Hawthorne or Emerson. Although my writing has, at times, been labeled Dickensian, it's not meant as a compliment. But as I sit at the park with my coffee, my book, my notepad, and my pen, the soft burble of the creek is drowned out by traffic, and indeed my view is partially obstructed by another person's car parked next to mine. When I pulled out my phone to check the time I decided to check facebook and email, and pretty soon I was down the rabbit hole, which made me think of Alice, so I googled Lewis Carroll. . .

That is why writer's should live in isolation on the dark side of the moon.