I understand writers who say they hide away inside their office and no one is to disturb that silence. We need no intruders while creating another world.
Sometimes I even feel like an eavesdropper spying on my characters as they write their own story. At times I feel in total connection with my characters that the tears they cry, I cry too. The anger they feel, I feel too. As corny as this may sound, it really is normal. After all, these are people of my creation, stories of my mind and heart, gifts of talent. They must be believable for me, or they won't be believable to you as the reader.
For a short period of time I lived in the city. I called it transitional housing as I waited for my other home. I hated it. The sounds outside my window, cars beeping...engines running...mowers mowing...were a distraction. There never seemed a moment of silence. I ended up trolling Facebook more than I wrote. All of those words that could have been written were lost...*sigh*.
The move into the country was a splendid blessing. Awww...peace and quiet. I loved it so much that I wrote 200,000 words in five months. I sold contracts for five books. I edited like a bunny on grass. I felt like a writing machine...a creative machine.
Each writer has a "weapon" of choice. What's yours?