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Saved by Public Radio

My great vice as a writer is public radio. (Here in a tiny off-grid house with no internet connection; otherwise it would probably be Facebook.)
Radio scratches the itch for me that social media and search engines do for others--the sense that just a click away there's something for me, a piece of informatin, a fascinating conversation.
Sometimes that's true. I learn a lot from radio, and I have many opportunities. On our ridgetop we can pull in Albany, Amherst, NHPR, VPR, and during storms, stations from Maine. Someone is always talking.
I know the research that shows that the brain does not multi-task. I know I shouldn't. But when I'm writing, I turn on the radio to morning talk shows. If I'm actually writing, which is most of the time, I pretty much miss the whole show, even if I'm interested.
Following the attacks in Paris, when the radio was too full of the unbearable, I suddenly remembered the station at the top of the dial, 88.5, New England Public Radio. It's classical music, all the time, what mornings on public radio used to be 30 years ago. On 88.5 it's still there, and has filled the house for two weeks now.
Result? I'm writing more, writing better--finishing my novel, starting a picture book for the first time in years. And now I've written a blog entry.
So far I haven't gone back to all the voices, though I do check in at the top of the hour to see if I'm missing anything I prefer to Mozart and Vivaldi. It's a good habit that actually feels good, and fills my house with peace.
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