You hop on your computer to write. Three hours later, you've written a whole lot—in Facebook posts, Twitter updates, forum posts, instant messages, and emails—but your story has moved along like a legless turtle. Sound familiar?

We could just disconnect from the web, but somehow having an active connection feels like a requirement for doing anything on a computer. Why do we rely on the internet so fully? How has this led us to “digital dependency”? And how can we get ourselves to log off so we can more effectively write on?

My name's Rob, and I'm a digital dependent.

I've become acutely aware of my internet addiction in recent weeks. Maybe I'm thinking about it in the terms of “addiction” because I'm reading Fahrenheit 451 right now. Maybe I'm just re-thinking things because the week I spent at a cabin in Idaho, far away from internet access or a cell phone signal, was one of the most productive and enjoyable weeks of writing I've had. Ever.

But I don't mean addiction as in, "When the internet isn't around I miss it." I mean that I feel paralyzed when I try to accomplish something on a computer but don't have the internet available. This applies even when I'm doing a computer-based task that has no web-centric component. It almost feels like the ethernet cable connects me to my own brain—which, as it turns out, isn't that far off.

What is technology doing to my brain?

The modern era has fundamentally rewired the way we approach information.

In 2008, the magazine article "Is Google Making Us Stupid" opened the floodgates for criticism of the internet as an amorphous super-villain that makes everyone more dumberer. While the article was speculative and anecdotal, it prompted widespread discussion, more concrete studies, and improved organization of existing information. You can check out a summary of some of the studies done on the internet's influence on our brains here.

Here's what we've figured out: We no longer remember things in the same way. This doesn't mean Google is sabotaging our memory, but it does mean that the modern era has fundamentally rewired the way we approach information. Rather than remembering the information itself, we remember how to get to the information. We're actually getting smarter in some ways (we're improving in "transactive memory"), but it makes traditional memory (pure “information recall”) less important. As a result, we remember information less and remember processes more.

The logic is obvious enough. Is it easier to remember the capitals of all 50 states or to remember you can do a search for “state capitals” and hop over to the Wikipedia article that provides them all for you? The more omnipresent information resources become in our lives, the less we need to remember the information itself. We can always whip out our smartphone or hop on our laptop to find the information—in great detail, with images, and with helpful links.

The internet isn't making us dumber or smarter, but it is changing the way our brains are wired. What's happening today is surprisingly similar to what happened when we started writing information down rather than relying on our oral tradition. Socrates is known to have thrown a tissy fit because writing the information down made it less efficient to memorize large texts. He feared written text would prevent us from remembering things, and he was right: How many people do you know who have The Odyssey memorized in its entirety?

Okay, so why has this made us dependent on the internet?

When we try to think of information, our brains will naturally try to get to the information in the most practiced way possible. If I ask you the 13th letter of the alphabet, I'm guessing you would answer by going through the ABCs and counting off each letter. This is your process of finding the information. If I told you that you had to tell me the 13th letter without going through the alphabet, though, you would probably have a hard time of it.

We're left trying to get from Point A to Point C with no Point B in sight.

This is the same thing happening when we lock up due to a lack of internet access. Our process of accessing information is gone and we're left trying to get from Point A to Point C with no Point B in sight. Approaching information in a non-typical way may not be impossible, but it is using a part of the brain that's out of practice. It's natural that this leads to slower information and higher anxiety. Anxiety, in turn, drops barriers or blocks in the creative process. (You can read more about this in my series on the neuroscience of writing.)

The intuitive solution is to get back to our standard method of information processing or, in this case, logging back onto the web. However, if you're doing something like writing a short story, logging on also means dropping yourself into a realm of distractions.

How can we fight digital dependency?

Breaking digital dependency is possible, but it's tricky. The first step is the most obvious: Log off. You'll be pushed into a state of anxiety, but the key is to write through it, re-establishing memory and thought processes that don't rely on having internet access. (If you have some trouble getting through the initial barrier to writing, check out my tips on overcoming writer's block.)

It's hard not to just log back in when a slight curiosity (“What does happen during cardiac arrest, anyway?”) tangents us away from our story. Pulling up your web browser is too easy. Here are a few ideas for blocking your net access in healthy ways:

Write on a non–internet capable computer. You can do this by breaking your own shit (glue in the ethernet port, yanking the WiFi chip from the motherboard) or simply working on older hardware (a Windows 95 system or even, God forbid, a typewriter).

Lock yourself out with vicious software (such as Cold Turkey, which I discusses in my 9 modern tools article).

Before you start writing, put your internet access out of reach. Hide your ethernet cable. Unplug the router. Find a place where you can't get WiFi.

The next barrier is when you reach a stage where you actually need to find some new information to write the story effectively. You could “temporarily” log back in (consider disabling cookies if you do; that way you'll at least have to re-login to platforms like Facebook). What I recommend, though, is learning to delay the research-centric elements of your writing. Just leave yourself a note instead.

I personally notate my text by writing two slashes //with a note like this// to flag my future self to go back and do something for me. You can use any annotation you'd like. I've a friend who uses {these brackets}, another who highlights, and my dear mother uses “xxx”—blissfully unaware of the adult connotations. Then, when you get back online, you can easily go back through your text and "batch process" your research.

In the end ...

This is just the beginning. It's too early to say if the digital era is, on the balance, “good” or “bad.” What's certain is that it's an age filled with difficult new challenges. Our resources are changing the way we think, and we must change our strategies if we want to thrive.

So what about you? Do you experience a similar lock-up of digital dependency? What techniques or tools do you use to keep yourself logged off? And how do you feel about the internet changing our wiring? Leave your thoughts in the comments, below.