I was talking to my friend BB the other day, as we were huddled over our laptops trying to write our books. And I asked him, “Hey, do you ever get that thing where, after you write a really great couple of sentences, you feel like you have to pull back, look away, focus on something else for a few seconds even though you’ve suddenly gotten into the flow better than ever?”
“Yeah,” he said. “Absolutely.”
“It’s like sex,” I mused. “Like, you’re getting too close to your orgasm too quickly, and you have to hold back and not blow your wad, as it were.”
“We guys are very familiar with this phenomenon,” BB assured me dryly.
I still find it weird. Why, just when I’m grooving, do I suddenly need to check Facebook, feed the cat, do a load of laundry? Maybe it’s a fear of getting lost in that flow. Maybe it’s too exhilarating. Or maybe it’s simpler than that, and inspiration only comes out in little puffs at a time, especially these days when we’re all so used to shattered concentration, multitasking on multiple screens. I don’t remember anymore if I used to be able to cruise along in the flow, be carried away rather than resisting. The internet and its distractions have been a part of my experience too long.
For now, I’ll take the little puffs of inspiration, and hope they lead to a satisfying climax in the end.