Close The Door

I've been having problems with a necessary component of writing lately: the ability to close the door. I don't generally have any difficulty writing in public places, and in fact recommend it to my students. Write at the library, a cafe, even the mall food court. It shakes you up and gives you new perspectives. Also it often affords you the opportunity to eavesdrop, and that is key to writing good dialogue.
However, there must be a time in every writer's life when a closed door is a necessity. When I go into a "writing trance" I don't want to have to come out until I've got my work done for the day. Now, when you're staying with your mum, this is just not possible. No matter how great a mum she is, it is unlikely that she will resist the temptation to throw the door open and yell, "Guess who's on Ellen's show? You HAVE to come see!" Or if you're visiting your fiancee, and you just sit down to a nice blank page, it is almost requisite that he drop whatever he's doing (posting snowblowers on craigslist, baking bread, felling trees) and find you to tell you every detail of the process. You find yourself listening in fascinated horror to his tales of crazy bottom-feeders on craigs, or how the dough is taking over the world, or how he almost sliced his leg off. And the pen and notebook drop to the floor, forgotten.
The sad truth is that those we love most also think we need their constant presence, advice, tales of woe. But really, we don't. Really, what writers need most is quiet time, away from people, even the people dearest to us. Especially them, actually. I've never had a perfect stranger come up to me when I'm writing, thrust a dripping index finger over my pristine notebook and shout, "Look, I'm bleeding!" And I have to tell you, this person was a supposed adult.
In any case, you will probably at some point need to convince your nearest and dearest that you absolutely MUST close the door and have it stay closed. This may work. But if it doesn't, you may find as I am that it pays to pay for a space, even a tiny space, a closet away from home. Where they can call you if they need you, but probably won't bother and will find the Superman bandaids and the Neosporin themselves.