Storyteller Louis L’Amour said he could write in the middle of a busy intersection with his typewriter on his lap. Not necessarily a good idea, I would think, but I envy his concentration. Once started, I can focus like nobody’s business. My family knows that if I’m writing, they have to work hard (aka “be obnoxious”) in order to derail me. However, it’s the getting started that’s occasionally a challenge.
Ambient noise– the ticking of the clock, the wren’s repeated “Sophia” outside my window, the UPS truck in the driveway– doesn’t bother me. If I can start the day quietly, read a bit, check the priority list, and settle into my office around 9:30, all tends to go well. It’s when something interrupts the quiet start that silence seems elusive.
Silence ranks as one of the primary luxuries I crave. When I have a delectably silent day (rare), it’s hard to emerge from the blissful solitude and have to start making noise. I’d rather put thoughts on a page than try to respond to small talk. It’s rewarding to find a voice on paper, but much harder to mine worth from the spoken word.
I dream of taking a solitary vacation to someplace quiet. For once I might reach a surfeit of silence, and find myself looking forward to noise. I can scarcely imagine it, but I’d be willing to experiment– all in the name of scholarly investigation, of course.
Yesterday, I got a lot done on my book proposal. Today, not so much, due to a disrupted morning. I wonder if it’s possible to request a year of silence as a birthday gift? I’d have to wait until June, but perhaps it takes that long to gather a good supply and get it gift wrapped. Let’s see if I can add it to my Amazon wishlist….