What Knocks You Off Your Game?
Writing is not an easy path. Many authors live very full lives, so the precious few hours available for writing are considered cherished. I don’t need silence to write. I only need a cup of coffee, my mp4 and the television on but muted. Yeah, it’s odd but the colors on the screen help me concentrate in my peripheral vision.
What knocks me off my game is:
1. Endlessly arguing teens for no absolute reason other than boredom.
2. Waking up in a bad mood. Rare but it happens.
3. Multiple interruptions, the kids call, the school calls, the phone rings incessantly, or my mind just wanders.
5. OCD- No really, when I get upset about the kids or the man or things not going how I like, I tend to obsess over my imperfections and it prevents me from moving on right then. Takes a day for me to get over whatever ‘it’ is. Totally unreasonable and unhealthy, thankfully it doesn’t last long and it’s never happened over edits.
6. The sad moments when I still think of my mother who passed three years ago. Still I have days where it hits hard and I don’t even want to crawl out of bed period.
7. Computer sharing. No laptop right now it died. So when I’m moving along good and need to get off for whatever reason, coming back is not as smooth as if I’d gotten to finish the scene. I rectified it by making sure I finish the sex scenes at least. I hate beginning one and having to go back.
8. Having plans to write and the family having plans for family activities or date night.
9. Technology, I am not talented at learning the finer aspects of coding, html, building sites, although I can finally update my own website. Still working on conformity though. However when it gets too difficult and tests the bounds of my lacking impatience, it’s like the world has ended.
Here’s an example of how I fixed a total fit of Hales exasperation!
Unedited and coming one day– sometime soon—-somewhere
“Why does bad shit happen to me?” Hopeless of finding a solution, Paige slinked down, out of her chair with dramatic flair onto the cool tiled floor. “Umph,” the muffle sound escaped her mouth as she hit her head on the underside of the desk. Squinting, and on hands and knees she crawled looking for the itty bitty piece of metal determined to cause her heart- failure.
“Number fifty-four,” calling number fifty-four,” a nasally voice rang out over the sound system.
“That’s my number,” Paige tried not to hyperventilate. A pair of scuffed tennis shoes filled her line of vision. A glint of color on the tiles caught her attention.
“Can I help you?” The voice belonging to the sneakers asked.
“Are you good at screwing?” Paige tilted her head up, getting her first look of her savior, least she hoped so.
Coughing ensued.”I’m sorry, I misheard you.”
“No. I need someone good at screwing. Really good with—small, tight holes.” When her hand landed on the piece she needed she heaved a sigh of relief and scooted on her hands and knees, popping up at his side.
“I’m sure we can come to some kind of arrangement, outside of public view.”
“I don’t have time for an arrangement. I need it now—“She gave him a damsel in distress look, or at least she thought she did.
“You want help right here, right now?” The young man slipped his glasses off.
“Yessssss.” She pleaded catching his perplexed expression. He has nice lips, she pushed the thought out of her head.
“Number fifty-four, last call.”
“Oh thank the Lord. She slapped her glasses in his hand, and the tool kit. “I can’t get the screw in and I’m up for my driving test— right now.” She pivoted and ran to the window at the counter. “Just a minute, my lens popped out and a kind gentleman is assisting me.”
“Please hurry, there are others waiting.” The clerk replied.
“Oh I will.” Paige hurried back. “You’re the best ever… I mean one more pair of replacement glasses and the cost comes out of my pocket.” Yammering like a fool, she took a moment to appraise him while he had his head bent intent on her designer glasses. For frames so expensive, they had a habit of breaking all the damn time. She inhaled a pleasant scent, a woodsy fragrance, his face sported a trace amount of stubble. He wasn’t Adonis by any means, not with his rock band tee-shirt and ratty jeans, what she could see of them from her position. When he looked up at her, she got a view of eye’s the color of a turbulent sea, reminding her of her childhood crayon colors. Not a color well-defined but a mixture of green with a hint of blue. His hands held her glasses with ease, a feat she failed a few minutes before.
“It’s nothing,” Marcus reached up and adjusting her glasses on her face.
“I could kiss you,” She gave into impulse and kissed his cheek. “I um, have to go. Thanks again.” She walked off— mid way across the room, she realized she hadn’t gotten his name. Ignoring the glaring waiting customers, she ran back.
“I’m sorry. I’m not usually so frazzled. “I’m Paige.”
“Well, thanks Marcus.”
“For fixing your glasses? No problem, glad to help out. Better hurry for your driving test before the mob gets you.”
“Yeah, I should.” Why she stuttered like a teen-age girl she had no clue.
Paige blushed beet red and tucked her chin down, turning she made a hasty retreat toward the instructor waiting for her. She couldn’t afford to lose her Driver’s License. Missouri had new rules for vision impaired individuals. No longer possessing twenty-twenty vision in her right eye, she had to prove her skills behind the wheel.
She led the instructor to her compact car. Before climbing in she did the perfunctory walk around of the vehicle, lights, tail brake and turn signal. Her mind kept straying to the man who helped her, and the mortification of his original thought. He must’ve thought she was insane. God, she couldn’t believe how sexual her words sounded, or that she’d wigged out, scared of losing her place in line and stuck in the hellacious, overfilled, understaffed Department of Motor Vehicles.
A place worse than any filled super grocery store. Shuddering, she slid in and buckled arranged her mirrors, and buckled her seat belt. Unlike her hero, the man next to her didn’t give her the friendly vibe. “I’m ready.”
“Start the car and pull out into traffic. I’ll give you instructions as we go. You must pass with ninety percent acuity or retake the driving exam.” The stilted voice said.
“Yes, Sir,” Her attempt of wry humor didn’t gain her any brownie points. The instructor sat rigid in his seat, his expression, mildly annoyed. She doubted he had a funny bone in his entire body. She tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ears and followed his orders, determined to gain enough points to pass without using her vivacious charm and bubbly enthusiasm. The damned test looked to be unentertaining.
I hope you enjoyed this little sample of a story in the works to come. It materialized over exasperation at fixing my son’s eye glasses. Tell me why the screw kit has a million screws but none of them will screw into where the arm meets the glass part. Soon as I’d get it close the lens would pop out. The screwdriver for it is miniscule like a fairy could use it. I said fuck it and got him contacts, we’re both satisfied. I did take them in to get fixed but I was so grrr over my inability to screw in the fricken screw I needed a oulet to make it humorous. Viola you just read it!
What knocks you off your game?
How Do you Overcome it? I wanna know!