Skip to main content

The Silent Author: Why My Phone is on Do Not Disturb - Forever

I don’t know how y’all do it. Truly. I am in absolute awe of the people who walk around with their phones chiming, pinging, jingling, and jangling like an overenthusiastic one-man band. It’s like their entire existence is set to the soundtrack of Incoming Notification Symphony No. 5 in B-flat minor.

Me? I cannot. I will not. I refuse.

The first thing I do when I get a new phone—before setting up email, before adding my contacts, before even connecting to Wi-Fi—is turn off notifications. Every single one of them. If a phone could gasp in horror, I swear mine would.

“Oh, you don’t want to be alerted when someone breathes near your social media? You’re sure you don’t need to know immediately when Aunt Carol posts another blurry photo of her cat? You really don’t want to be reminded for the 47th time today that you left an item in your shopping cart?”

No, phone. I do not. I want peace. I want quiet. I want my train of thought to pull out of the station without being derailed every five seconds by the digital equivalent of a toddler repeatedly tapping my arm going, “Hey. Hey. Hey. Hey.”

Why Do Apps Think I Work for Them?

I don’t know when it happened, but somewhere along the way, my phone decided I work for it.

“Enable notifications to stay informed!”

Absolutely not.

“You might miss something important!”

Good.

“Are you sure you don’t want to know when a person you followed in 2011 likes a post?”

Positive.

Listen, I’m an author. My job requires long stretches of deep, uninterrupted thought, which is already hard enough when the actual real world keeps interrupting with actual real things like meals and people who insist I occasionally leave the house. The last thing I need is my phone joining the conspiracy against my focus.

How Does Anyone Deal with This Madness?

I’ve seen people who just accept it—living their lives as their phones chirp and buzz like deranged, overcaffeinated cicadas. How do you do it? Is it just background noise at this point? Do you hear a ding in the middle of the night and roll over, whispering, “Ah yes, another email from my dental hygienist,” before drifting back to sleep?

Meanwhile, if my phone so much as lights up unexpectedly, I fling it across the room like it’s possessed. Which, honestly, it might be. If we’re being completely truthful, half the reason I refuse to turn notifications on is because I don’t trust technology not to become sentient one day, and I would prefer not to give my future robot overlords a detailed account of my every waking moment.

Embracing the Blissful Silence

I like to believe I live on a different plane of existence—one where my phone is merely a tool, not an omnipotent, beeping dictator demanding my immediate attention. If you need me, send me a text. Or an email. Or, I don’t know, summon a carrier pigeon. Just don’t expect my phone to remind me to respond.

So to all of you out there, bravely navigating a world where your phone is basically a needy toddler with Wi-Fi—I salute you. But I’ll be over here, blissfully unaware, with my notifications permanently set to “No, thanks.”

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

The Encyclopedia Was Our Google — And Dad Was Our Search Engine

You know you’re not a digital native when the word “research” makes you smell paper and hear the satisfying thud of a heavy book landing on a table. Welcome to my childhood, where curiosity was rewarded not with Wi-Fi, but with a stack of alphabetically-organized mystery bricks called encyclopedias . Let me take you back. The year? Somewhere in the analog era. The place? Our living room, where we had the entire Bertelsmann encyclopedia collection proudly displayed like it was the crown jewel of human knowledge. We didn’t just own knowledge—we subscribed to it. One glorious volume arrived each month, like an academic advent calendar for nerdy children. Volume “A” to “Z,” with deep sighs of longing in between. I swear, I still remember the day Volume “P” arrived. I rushed to the mailbox like I was expecting a letter from a secret admirer. Nope. Just got the lowdown on Photosynthesis and Peru. But did that stop me from doing a dramatic reading of it over dinner? No, it did not. M...

The Glamorous Life of a Writer (Or, Mostly Just Staring at a Screen)

There’s a persistent rumor floating around that writers live thrilling, adventure-filled lives. Perhaps it’s all the dramatic author portraits on book jackets—moody, windswept, staring off into the distance as if contemplating the fate of the world. Perhaps it’s the movies, where writers are always dashing off to Paris to write the next great novel in a charming café (suspiciously never interrupted by spotty Wi-Fi or overpriced croissants). I hate to break it to you, but real writing? Not quite so cinematic. In reality, my writing days mostly involve staring intensely at my screen, willing the words to appear through sheer force of will. Occasionally, I engage in deep philosophical debates with myself—such as whether my protagonist should turn left or right down a hallway (the fate of the fictional world depends on it). And let’s not forget the highly intellectual process of naming characters, which can take hours because somehow every single name I think of is either the name of ...

The Absolute Madness of Naming Characters

  Let’s talk about one of the most ridiculous struggles of writing a book. No, I’m not talking about the part where you stare at the blinking cursor like it personally insulted your ancestors. I’m talking about naming characters. It should be easy, right? Just slap a name on them and move on? Oh, my sweet summer child. If only. See, naming a character is like naming your kid—except worse, because nobody is going to complain if your kid and their cousin both end up being named Liam. But if your main villain is named Liam and you accidentally give the quirky coffee shop owner in book three the same name? Cue the existential crisis. Let’s walk through the madness. The Overthinking Spiral of Doom You start writing, and there’s that moment: your brand-new character walks onto the page, full of potential. All they need is a name. A simple name. Something strong, something fitting, something— Oh no. Nothing sounds right. This one is too complicated. That one is too simple. ...