Tuning Out the Noise

One sentence at a time. That's the mantra I repeat over and over again in my mind. Sounds good in theory, but in practice I am having difficulty tuning out the noise of the world around me for long enough to string two sentences together. I am finding it excruciatingly hard to reconcile my fiction writing schedule as a necessary, or even deserved venture while there is is so much grief and suffering in the world. The macabre horror and human wreckage left in the wake of the Indian ocean tsunami disaster weighs heavily on my heart. The images of hardship and war burn through my mind, and cause me to wonder if pursuing my creative work is at all worthwhile. It seems an utterly useless use of time - wasteful - even selfish. How can I justify writing fiction when the world is wrought with turmoil and sadness?

Then, there are also the distractions of daily life, which here in Florida include constant rebuilding from the hurricane bombardment of the past summer. Today roofers seem to have descended en-mass in my neighborhood and my neighbor, directly across the street, is finally getting his roof repaired, along with several other homes on the block getting their roofs replaced. Hammering, pounding,drills, dumping of debris - are just a few of the sounds permiating through the closed door of my office. If it's not roofers, it's tree guys, or screen room enclosure guys, or landscaping technicians (aka: lawnmower guys) causing the din of noises that assail the sanctity of my office.

How to tune it all out? That is the question running my creativity ragged. Perhaps I shouldn't write today. Maybe I'm not supposed to. In light of all that is going wrong in the world, it's possible that I don't even deserve to write fiction. What a luxury to have such time and waste it writing! What a gift to have such ability!

What a crime to waste such a gift by not writing. Failing. Procrastinating. Avoiding. Hiding. That is what I am doing. Not writing is NOT an option. Regardless of how I am processing the chaotic world around me.

There. I talked myself into writing something - one sentence at a time. Just like the roofers on the house next door, I've peeled away the shredded layers that caused the leak and in the process revealed what was causing the damage. It is my responsibility to provide adequate shelter for my creative musings.

A writer must be convinced their ideas have a right to exist on paper, or they never shall. Better get hammering.