There is a man hammering something in the room next to me. It is literally impossible to write. Loud noise completely disables me. I’ve tried forcing myself to write with music on in order to become stronger, but it can still be very difficult. My attention flickers like a flame. It can be hard to maintain heat and intensity. I want to throw a table at something. Why haven’t they invented silent hammers yet? Why can’t society be tailored to make personal comfort level?
I want to find the perfect writing environment, but the perfect environment doesn’t exist. The perfect time doesn’t exist. The perfect story and inspiration do not exist. There is only reality. I’ll work with what I have. I’ll sit here in the noise and pound out my prose, and maybe the clicking and clacking of my keyboard will be louder than the sound of the hammers. Maybe the rhythm of sentences and structure will musically drown out the noise of this world.
It won’t completely, but impossible aspirations are important. And look at that, despite everything I just said, I’ve managed to finish writing a blog post.
Shoot for the stars and you might land on the stars.
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