Life is awfully quiet around our house these days. With a daughter off at college, and her brother starting seventh grade, it's often just the husband-on-sabbatical and me in the house. Sounds like a writer's paradise, yes? It is, and yet it isn't.
Sometimes I have to get away from the domestic distractions--critters, laundry, the garden, the temptation of Netflix, shelves full of books, and, of course, the Internet. They call to me in loud voices, familiar voices. They tug at me with comfortable familiarity, keeping me grounded, or luring me into consumable fantasies prepared by other people. Necessary, but dangerous stuff.
When I need to I pack up my laptop and notebooks and go. Occasionally to the library, or the local Barnes & Noble, or my Panera office. It just depends on my mood. One of my favorite things to do is to escape to a place where there's no Internet, but lots of fresh air. If the weather is gorgeous, you might find me here, hidden away in plain sight, listening to the birds, the trees and grass growing, and the voices inside my head.