Peace and quiet, or lack thereof.

I don’t live alone, and so I have little time and space to myself.

When I listen to music, I use headphones. The others, not so much. On weekends, there’s often music going, out loud, from as early as 8 am to well into the afternoon.

I have a desktop computer located in a shared room. I used to have a laptop, but it exploded. Long story. Anyway, you can imagine the complications this results in. I think this is part of the reason I became so much of a night owl over the last seven or so years of my life. It’s the only time when I’m, in one way or another, alone. It’s dark and peaceful. The rest of the world seems to stop for a few hours. I don’t have anyone or thing to answer to.

I have a plan. A fantasy, really. Someday, when I’ve got the free time, I’m going to check into a hotel for several days, someplace far out of the city. Someplace scenic. I’ll check in. Hide the clocks. Take the tv remote down to the front desk and tell them to keep it from me. Then, I’ll lock myself in the room and write for as long as I can. I’ll stop to eat. I’ll stop to take walks. I’ll stop to sleep at night, or take a brief siesta in the afternoon. That’s about it.

I know I’m not the only writer to do that. I’m just wondering if it really works. Maybe it’s something I really need to look into. At the moment I feel like my concentration’s been shattered, like I’ve got all the focus of an anxious squirrel.

I’m curious as to how the need of and search for quiet time and private space affects other writers. Just how prevalent is this feeling? Is it possible that I’d be a lot further along if I could just get some time away?

I’ll continue to tell myself that…

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