Things that Distract one’s Focus

• The sudden and unexplainable urge to read something one has never read before.
• A broken nail that begs to be filed.
• Hair that must be plucked, brushed, tweezed, or otherwise groomed.
• The click of a pen in another room.
• The need to feed pets, children or a partner.
• The need to bathe said pets, children or partners.
• A sudden and inexplicable yearning to clean every inch of one’s house.
• The pile of laundry calling, begging to be folded.
• An old notebook found in the deep recesses of a closet.
• The sudden and startlingly shrill scream of a child.
• Especially so if that child is not injured in the least, but rather enjoying the startlement they have caused.
• The ring on one’s finger.
• The thought that one ought to be writing, but instead is doing something else.
• The thought that one ought to be doing something else, and so therefore, should not be writing.
• The glowing numbers on a clock.
• The ticking of a clock.
• The hush of rain outside.
• The hush of wind through trees outside.
• The sunshine streaming through the window.
• The blackness of the night outside one’s curtains.
• A reminder that one’s favorite program has come on.
• A reminder that one’s bills need paid.
• A sudden urge to check the mail.
• The sound of a hamster running on it’s wheel.
• The thought that you might have books to return to the library.
• A rambling search for said books.
• The library.
• The siren call of someone messaging you.
• A tangle of cords peeking out of a box.
• A new idea where one was not before.
• A new plotline for a part of the story one has not reached quite yet.
• The thought that perhaps this story isn’t worth telling after all.
• The gross misconception that one can handle writing three or more books at once.
• A sudden, undeserved pity party.
• A sudden, well-deserved pity party.
• A sudden, and entirely deserved party.
• Any sort of party, really.
• Cake.
• The Dog Park.
• One’s own thoughts.
• A game that one wants to play.
• A chore one must do.
• The irksome feeling of an unmade bed.
• The act of making a bed.
• The comfort that comes from sitting on a made bed.
• Pictures.
• Dreams.
• The look on one’s face in the mirror.
• Anything broken.
• Lights flickering.
• The ding of an appliance.
• The hum of a refrigerator.
• Eye contact.
• The reward one has set oneself for completing the act in the end.
• The idea that one must complete the act at all.
• The uncomfortable tingle of a bladder over full.
• The rush of a breeze over one’s arm.
• Anything at all can be a distraction.
• When you think about it, in the end, even what you’re writing is a distraction.
• A distraction from all of these distractions.
• The best sort of distraction is an entertaining one.
• So make your distractions entertaining.
• And then write them down.
• And share with the class.
• Who knows.
• Your distractions.
• Might become someone else’s.
• And then.
• The world will be a better place.
• Or so this one thinks, anyway.