One Distraction Too Many

Hello Lovelies,

For those who have been following my blog for a while, you would know about my tendency to procrastinate and I have blogged about it several times (usually when I am procrastinating). Well, I guess in a way I am procrastinating again as I am giving in to every possible distraction.

Being a good writer is 3% talent and 97% not being distracted by the internet


I have barely written anything in the last week and I am beginning to think I’ll never finish anything. It’s been almost a year since I started this blog and since I started to embrace the writer within and as I look back I have accomplished quite a bit. I am humbled that so many people have joined me on my journey, either on Facebook or WordPress and it is quite an amazing feeling that people have enjoyed my writing enough to do so.

But it’s time to get serious, I need to give more time to writing without constantly giving in to the distractions of the real world. So, lovely followers, if you catch me writing a post about procrastinating again, do me a favour and remind me that I have a novel to finish (one of many that I have started). If you’re like using hash-tags, try out #LonelyHearts2015, just to keep me on track. Feel free to harass me now and then on my Facebook page and remind me to do some serious writing, because quite often my nature and personality get the better of me and before I know it I’ve wasted two hours browsing Flickr Creative Commons looking for a great picture to go with my latest post.

To hold your interest in Thomas and Rose’s story, below is a small excerpt. I’ll be the first to admit that it’s not very good and unless I can do some serious editing later, then it probably won’t make the final cut.



It has been two whole days and I haven’t heard from Thomas. I figured he was just being nice when he offered to take me to dinner, but I couldn’t forget the way I felt when he was near. No matter how much I try not to think about it, about him, I can’t help but think wonder if I had the same effect in him. Perhaps though, this is the way it’s meant to be, maybe this is what mother’s words meant. As I sit behind the front counter and try to busy myself with work I glance at the clock and congratulate myself on lasting five minutes without thinking about that man, then I inwardly curse as the bell rings and I stupidly wonder if perhaps it is him. A young messenger boy, no older than fifteen, carrying a satchel across his body, “Good morning Miss, I have an important delivery for Mr Szabo.”

“Thank you, I’ll see that he gets it right away.” I take the thick envelope from the young boy and know that it’s the business papers from Thomas. As I expect him to be on his way, the young boy smiles at me, “You’re Miss Greene, right?” Before I could wonder how on earth he could know who I was he continued to speak, “He said to look out for the pretty girl at the front desk, told me if her name was Miss Greene then I was to give her this.” He handed me a small envelope and before I could ask who ‘he’ was, the boy had gone.

© Katherine A. Kovacs and The Writer Within, (2013-2015). Unauthorised use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Katherine A. Kovacs and The Writer Within with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.


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