Distractions: 1001 ways to shout "Squirrel!"

A month ago, I went to a great event, called Bouchercon (it rhymes with voucher) which is the mystery-thriller writers convention. Since it was in Minneapolis, I couldn't not go. Four days of panel discussions and speakers about all things writing. From how to write better action sequences to using pets in stories to types of poisons, there was a variety of sessions for everyone. Kudos to all of the folks who make it happen!

But perhaps my most insightful moment came out of the blue. Between two panel discussions, I was looking out over the hotel bar, just watching the folks below. A woman nearby and I started chatting about writing (those were, of course, 99% of the conversations) and she talked about how most writers really don't drink as much as popular culture suggests they do. Mostly, writing is a lot of detailed work that one can't possibly do while drunk. Maybe in the early phase of the first, creative draft, but after that, it's just plain work. 

She's dead right. Professional authors treat it like any other job. They get up and lock themselves in a room for several hours and work. Whether it's actual writing or editing or marketing or whatever, it's work. And if it's your livelihood, ya better get it done! 

It's not my livelihood, not yet anyway, but, like she said, it's work. So I've started to be more committed to it. I've been making a point of getting up early to work and finding alternative times to do the other stuff. It's been good and productive. A whole new paradigm, but that's good. 

Let's not say it's easy, though. That laundry that's sat in the pile for a week? My goodness, it has to get folded right now. Clean the fridge? I can't believe I've let it go this long. Do some "research" online for an hour to describe the proper shade of blue? That's work, right? I make a kid who doesn't want to go to bed look like an amateur. 

Fun story- The other day I was happily focused on polishing my next book when there's a ruckus at my window. Realize, that that particular window is no more than five feet from where I write, so all kinds of things can catch my attention. Yeah...the woodpecker certainly did. Really?! Because everything else isn't enough? So while I love birds, I did have to chase her away since I had work to do.

Wait- I should figure out what kind of woodpecker it was (pretty sure it's a female downy woodpecker). And do an exercise to describe the changing color of the leaves on my tree. And clean out that downspout. And now my coffee's cold. Sigh, it's a miracle that I ever get anything done.