I’ve tried evolving things over the years, and what I have found is that it’s not where I write that matters. It’s how I feel that matters.
Sometimes it means sitting at the big white dining table in the living room, as I am now, even ignoring the mess off to the right since I’m mid-reorganization.
Sometimes It do it outside on my balcony, with the raw cedar – freshly polished today.
The only place I don’t write is in the bedroom, really. Well, the bathrooms too.
I used to have romantic ideas of writing on the beach. That’s a bad idea. Sand, corrosive stuff all over – I will write in notebooks, but then the sun is never quite right, the wind never quite right, the sand all over… and on every beach I’ve been to in every country, invariably there’s some idiot with a big speaker system in their car who really wants to play me the song of his people.
The things I need for writing are an idea that has congealed. Once I have that, writing is a simple task.
Today I did not have one, so I finally used one of the writing prompts.
Strangely, this was supposed to post to RealityFragments.com, but apparently WordPress.com has some wonky stuff under the hood that published it here.
Obla di, obla da, last time I use a WordPress.com writing prompt.