Ages ago, before the zip of instantaneous technology and web sites, emails and groups and loops, I would closet myself off and write and write and write. Mostly teen-age angst and poetry that I thought was all that. I dreamed of "being a writer," and my future published status. And I had the classic heroes of old to give me motivation. Those writers who did not push for notoriety, but let their writing speak for itself. They didn't have Yahoo Groups to catch up on, web sites to design or blogs to post their every thought and frustration. There was no twitter or facebook. Hell, there weren't even any telephones! Man, can you imagine having that kind of indulgence. No extraneous distractions to pull you away from or interfere with your writing and thought process. Jealous, am I? Yep.
And I sit here and laugh at myself, because I'm proving myself as one of those to-be-distracted.