I'm in a race to finish my book. I'm so close I can envision the acceptance letter. Well, maybe not. I envision an agent rejecting me before she reads through the first sentence that I tried so hard to perfect. I see them, used to reading so much crap, that they think, "Hrmm, his first sentence doesn't enthrall me, onto the slush pile."
I was rewriting my first chapter this morning. Actually it was a prologue. I've decided for the hundredth time to write a prologue, after having rejected the idea an equal number of times.
I was just getting warmed up, the ideas flowing faster than I could type. Good stuff was appearing onto the page, this was gold, this was....
The moment was gone. The creative juices dried up with the call of the wife. Something, always something to destroy the creative flow. Such as my mother just walking into my office and asking about a DVD player, or the phone ringing, or my dad calling my celphone just to see if his was working.
The problem is, with each interruption, my work becomes worse. A different train of thought takes over and clashes with the first train of thought, resulting in a writing train wreck.
A constant barrage of distractions fucking over my creative ability.
This particular prologue is about me discovering the Beach Buggy concept and how it formulated in my brain.