Writing is a solitary endeavor. You sit at your desk, or at a table in Starbucks with your Venti Americano and your laptop, and you write. You’re alone with your ideas, your thoughts, your tentative plans for chapter seven, and your characters. ..

… and about a million and one distractions.

First, there’s the most insidious distraction of all – your laptop. It’s filled with evil things just waiting to sidetrack you – things like Twitter, and Facebook, and Pinterest – oh my! And Instagram, and email, and – oh, someone just sent me a Coachella video. Here’s a link to a couple of blogs I’ve been meaning to read, and here’s a sample chapter for the latest Marian Keyes novel. I love Marian Keyes.

I’m not a writer, I realize with chagrin. Nope. I’m a crow, in skinny black jeans and a black t-shirt, because I’m far too easily distracted by shiny objects.

Take the shiny object who just walked in. I look up, and I see him, and I freeze. I swear, it’s Jude Law. Oh. My. God. But the name he gives to the barista is Tom. Still – he could be incognito, right? He could be here in DC, filming, and so of course he doesn’t want to be recognized. He glances over; our eyes lock. Oh, crap, did he read my mind? Does he know that I know it’s him?

My heart races. Is this a Love Connection? Forgetting for the moment that I’m already married, I see the tabloid headlines in my mind:  ‘Law and Oliver Wed Following Whirlwind Starbucks Romance’. Or maybe, ‘Katie and Jude – A Whole Latte Love’.

Then I realize he’s not looking at me – he’s looking at someone sitting behind me.  Oh, of course.  His wife.

My daydream crashes headlong into reality. It’s not love at first sight that’s causing my heart to race. It’s an overactive imagination and way too much caffeine.

Okay, focus, I order myself grimly as I return my attention to the laptop. Write. It’s time to name that new male character in chapter three.

Hmmm… how about Tom?  Or Jude? Those are both good names.

Mentally, I shake myself. Focus, focus, FOCUS!

Let’s call the new character Will.  He’s a photographer, with a five-o’clock shadow on his jaw from a late-night shoot, and he’s just about to meet the heroine.  She spills Diet Coke all over him.  Then…

A woman walks in and goes to the counter to place her order. Clasping her hand is the most adorable little Chinese girl, with silky black hair and a shy smile.  She wants an oatmeal cookie. Mommy says no. Adorable little Chinese girl immediately morphs into the thing that emerges from Ripley’s stomach in Alien.

So much for focus.

As I close my laptop and gather my stuff to leave, an idea occurs to me.  Maybe my heroine meets an actor, an actor who’s on the run from his own fame. Can she trust his feelings for her?  He’s an actor, after all. Can he trust her feelings for him? Maybe she’s just another celebrity chaser, hoping to cash in with a juicy tabloid tell-all story after their fling ends.

I hurry to my car and throw my stuff inside, anxious to get home…

…where I can settle down and write. With no more distractions, and no more shiny objects.

Just me, my imagination, and my laptop.