You've found your market, you know what they want and you know, what's more, that you can deliver it.
So you sit, trying to write, the plot there shining in your head. How it starts, where it goes and exactly what the ending is, it's all there.
This is the short story they're looking for.
So you sit, trying to write and the set up is done, and you have your protagonist nicely defined. He's about to meet the heroine and...
The phone rings.
"Hello, me speaking," you say.
"Is she home?"
"Yes I'll just get her," and you yell and you yell until you get a response, over the loud music in the other room.
"It's so-and-so on the phone for you."
And you sit, trying to write, tapping on the keys, and it's going really well, and now he's met the woman and they're about to speak, and...
The phone rings again.
"Get that," you bellow, "It'll be for you." Then you listen to the ringing, and hear that the house is strangely silent as the phone rings on. So you answer the phone and take the message.
And you sit, trying to write, squeezing out a few more lines before another call comes. Only this time it's him, and he wants you to call the bank and transfer some money, and get his kit washed before tomorrow, because he forgot and he's racing and...
You mean to do it, you really do, but the story has got you in its grip.
So you sit, trying to write, and the characters are clinching and they're at the bedroom door and...
Three giggling teenagers burst through the door, asking for ice-cream and juice and so loud. So, you feed them and get yourself a coffee, and compose yourself and settle down.
And you sit trying to write, trying to get the mood back, as she leans into his kiss and....
CRASH!!!
You go through next door and look at the three great lumps on the remnants of a foldaway bed and you ... don't scream at them, much as you want to, but you sort it out and fix the bed, and you see him driving up to the door, and remember the bank and the washing that you haven't done, feeling guilty, but longing to get back to the story.
And you sit trying to write, and the words aren't coming easily any more, but you know that they're there so you focus and you focus and ...
He wants to know where his tyre levers are, and have you seen his cap, and he's standing behind you with a pump squeaky-clattering as he blows up the inner tube, and he's talking to you and....
And you stop trying to write, and you sigh, and node this instead.