“I don’t know if I have been able to write ten lines without being disturbed. … I am not telling any lies when I say that I am writing practically nothing,” lamented (laughed?) St. Thérèse of Lisieux. She had snuck out to the convent garden to write, hoping to make progress on Story of a Soul in her very small pocket of free time. But she had been constantly interrupted, as usual, and the process was painfully slow. I underlined her words and sat back…