In your story, your mind is infused into your character, but you are also guiding other characters. The images are there, the action, the colors, the smells, tastes, touch, and feel. You are in the moment of your own words but running ahead, creating only seconds in the future of that moment. The moment is tense; you are making it that way for a reason, for your readers.
Something rips you out of it. You try to hold on, but the colors fade, the smells evaporate, the action stops, emotions freeze, and the last fragments of the image are sucked away, lost. You wonder if it can ever be the same. You know it can’t.
It doesn’t matter what ‘something’ shattered your world; you will never have that moment back, never know if the next one you make will be as good. Maybe the next one will be better, but you’ll never know—it’s gone.
Have you ever watched an exceptionally good, edge-of-your-seat movie that made you crunch the cushions and urge your heroes on? Imagine watching this movie for the first time while recording it so you can share it with someone. You’re gripped in an intense scene, and the power goes out. Wow, that would suck. To be in the middle of creating when your scene is ripped away is much more profound.
The phone ringing or a dog barking may make your world fade a moment, a mild annoyance, a distraction, but not one to do more than make the mind skip a step. When someone comments or, worse, speaks directly to you, your mind leaps to the words and analyzes the message. It yanks your mind out of the world you were making.
I think only writers and poets and maybe composers of music know where I’m coming from—maybe not. The craft cannot be discarded anymore than eating, breathing, or taking a leak but denying it is every bit as detrimental to the psyche of an artist. To struggle with distractions is almost as bad as denying your craft.
The best solution is to have an office, even if you must build a box or convert a closet into a private place for you and your word processor. This beats sitting in the same room with loved ones unless you don’t mind biting their head off. They will still knock on your door whenever a question that can’t wait a few hours arises—it’s surprising how many times this can occur in a day, but the interruptions are considerably reduced.
Without a means of seclusion, the only other option is to write when others sleep. Changing a sleep cycle is far from easy, and you should be prepared for complaints about snoozing when loved ones want your attention. Writing isn’t like a nine-to-five job; it’s far more demanding in many ways. You have to do it when you can, and you must be able, but just as importantly, be sure to devote time to the one(s) you love as well.