I admit I don’t know where this came from or who took the picture or I would give credit. Whomever you are, you are genius!
Writers are an odd lot. We take what we see, hear, taste, feel and smell from friends, family, neighbors, towns, cities, movies, shows, grocery stores, parents with kids, old people, dogs, peacocks, etc–we grind it all up then create, mold and press the little pads on our keyboards and write new people, places, describe aromas, the sights our characters are viewing, what they are feeling, how they interact and so on.
We live in our minds most of the time, creating, so when the outside world interrupts our own little worlds, we do tend to get upset at the interruption. That is why, when reading a mystery (I don’t know about other genre writers), there is a sudden, out-of-place character that dies, with no ties to any other character, it is so odd. That means someone interrupted the writer and s/he killed the real -life person, because they don’t want to go to jail for murder.
Seriously, that is why we write in solitude, so as to not give anyone the opportunity to interrupt with a ‘Hey, did you see this cute/funny/sad kitten/dog/llama video on facebook/google/youtube?’ Really. We don’t care.
If you interrupt us one more time when we’re trying to write how Ms. Rutherford Barbenelli was cooking her famous Italian Spaghetti sauce when she heard a violent gunshot across the hall of her Boston Brownstone walkup, we’ll include how she found the annoying gossipy neighbor next door, Mrs. Genevieve Poponopolos, laying in a pool of her own blood in the hallway, in front of the neighbor’s door across the hall, with a shocking bullet hole through the door and a matching one through her forehead.
You have been warned.