Social media, unnecessary commitments, and even self-doubt can be distractions. Set boundaries to protect your writing time. — Kennita Williams
Writers often find themselves in a curious relationship with technology—partnership on one hand, and battlefield on the other. While some tools streamline the writing process, others interrupt it with chirps, buzzes, and pings that feel more like digital landmines than helpful nudges.
For those who thrive in the focused hum of a keyboard and a cup of coffee, the constant intrusion of devices can be a maddening distraction.
A Poetic Glimpse into the Writer’s World
Let’s step into the quirky workspace of a writer wrestling with the modern dilemma of connectivity. From the joy of crafting emails to the horror of syncing calendars, each stanza highlights the struggle between flow and interruption, order and chaos. Maybe this poetic rant will give you permission to silence your phone and sink joyfully into the clickety-clack of creative writing.
Ding, Dang, Somebody Rang
By Frank Ball
I sit at my desk with a clickety-clack,
My fingers go flying—no time to lean back.
I’m editing, writing, and sipping my brew,
Ignoring the world and its hullabaloo.
But ding. goes my cellphone, that digital brat,
Who chirps in my pocket like some kind of gnat.
It buzzes and bounces and beckons me near,
With messages I really don’t want to hear.
Now email? I love it. I answer with speed.
When I’m at my desktop, I’m planted like seed.
I type with a purpose. I click with a grin.
But texting? Oh, no! That’s a cardinal sin.
My phone is quite useless for getting things done,
Unless it’s for thoughts at the setting of sun.
It lives by my bedside, a note-taking knight,
For random ideas that strike me at night.
Why not just sync it? some techies have said,
Sync Outlook, Exchange, and put stress all to bed.”
But syncing means pinging, and pinging brings pain,
And thoughts start to leak from the side of my brain.
Two Microsoft accounts? That’s a riddle too sour.
They battle for Inbox and Calendar power.
And once I begin, I’ll be lost for a week,
In menus and settings so cryptic and bleak.
So I stick with my system—a bit old and odd.
Not synced. Not slick. Not appraised by a mod.
Yet somehow it works, in a lumpy old way,
To help me keep chaos and madness at bay.
So if you should call and I don’t pick up fast,
Don’t take it to heart or dwell on the past.
I’m deep in a sentence, a comma, a thought—
Distracted, delighted, or mentally caught.</div
And maybe one day, I’ll get tech to behave,
But for now, I’ll just write in my cave like a knave.
For emails, I’ll answer. They’re calm and discreet.
But texts? They stampede on my impatient feet.
For a practical guide to storytelling, check out Storytelling at Its Best
