Interruptions come in various shapes, sizes and yes, sounds. I am a single, nineteen year-old who lives at home, works full time, & calls herself a novelist. An unpublished, aspiring, only-on-my-second novel, novelist.
I call myself blessed to have been homeschooled all twelve grades and that I’m still able to be with my best friends—my family—at home. My home is not only a haven, a creative inspiration in more ways than one, but a place where I can learn, give, receive, and grow along with my precious parents and three younger siblings. Since I’ve waxed poetic long enough…I think its time I shed the light of reality on the home I count mine—the place where I write…interrupted.
I do not have a set-apart desk or table where I can spread out my research, outlines, notes and scribbles. Our well worn diningroom table is our primary workspace for not only schoolwork, but crafts, meals, baking and occasionally our calico cat hops up and struts the table like she owns it. I only rarely sit at the diningroom table now; rather I “hole up” in my room, on my bed, to write and work on that future great American novel. I do try and switch up my settings to not only wake up my feet that fall asleep, but to be in and around my family! Typically when I’m in my room, the interruptions are minimal.
Then I head out into the land of the living with laptop in hand, tea on a coaster and park it. My two youngest siblings are ten and seven, so it’s not like they need the attention a toddler or infant does, but it’s the background noise—yes, the bickering, the playing, the squeals, and the talking a mile a minute—that fill my ears. Recently, on a rare, quiet evening, I parked near my mother who I refer to as “Mum” and as I was writing, I got to that one crucial point of dialog that I have to nail exactly right. The “littles” were making mischief somewhere away from us, my fingers begin to fly with that sunburst of inspiration…and Mum began to sing.
Imagine my fingers screeching to a halt on the keyboard. This is where I began to drag myself out of small town America, 1930′s, into reality. Mum has a lovely singing voice, really. And that’s good because even in the daily pain of battling rheumatoid arthritis, she still sings. The song she was singing was an old hymn—one I had actually written into my novel a few days before.
I didn’t react quite like a maniac on the outside, but the “sunburst” of inspiration began to fade, background noises started to loudly hum along with Mum’s singing, and my fingers itched not to type, but to tear my hair out, crawl into a cave and write until the novel is DONE! You could say I asked for that interruption by coming out of my bedroom…but I weakly defend that I wanted to be with my family. What if we could all find the balance in our unique stations in life, to, at the same time, be apart of our families, give our attention to them and to the works in progress in our computers?
I have a tendency to view interruptions as petty annoyances to be brushed aside like a piece of lint. I think we all can admit to feeling that way sometimes. I have to remind myself daily that “perfect” balance in life—juggling all our individual hats, including that of a writer—is impossible.
I’m still learning through every day of my responsibilities around the house, investing in family’s lives…and just going with the flow of interruptions that God sends my way. Catch those little moments, cherish them and trust God that He alone will bring that work in progress to completion…because of and in spite of the interruptions.