This. So. Much.
Do any of you have this issue? You go to your bedroom, den, small corner of the house to write and mere minutes later someone is next to you pulling on your leg, asking you to help them with something, or simply standing there to randomly chat about something mundane? This is my writing life. I have done nothing the past month but beg and plead with my family for personal space and I simply can not get it. And frankly, I don’t think it’s fair that the only way for me to get it, is to leave the house.
The usual intrusion is when I am in my bedroom with the door shut and the family knows just fifteen minutes before I went inside to write. It is usually at this point someone walks into my room “to get something in a drawer” or “just use the bathroom” (uh…
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