So my house is being remodeled, and has been for the last month, and will be for the next couple of weeks. Meanwhile my family and I are living in a tiny rental house a few blocks away. Our house is Our House, and the rental is Baby James's House (because a baby named James used to live there
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I used to go to the small, local branch of our public library. It is very quiet, and people are nice. No music like the local coffee shops. I used to go to the coffee place in Barnes and Noble, but people kept talking to me. THAT never happens at the library. I think the coffee shop culture is unusually social here, or maybe I don't give off strong enough "don't talk to me" vibes.
Now my writing place is in the walk-in closet. I have to run an extension cord, but it's private and quiet and people leave me alone. So I'm a closetted writer. Heh.
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As I just said in an email to a friend, a true professional would suck it up and write in the bathtub (with no water, of course). Or, like you, in a closet...
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If it gets noisy outside, I use headphones. Sometimes the darkness becomes an issue, and my hubby drags me out to work in the back yard. I get something akin to Seasonal Affective Disorder if I spend too much daylight time closed up in there. He also tends to call me at mealtimes so I don't skip meals and get hypoglycemic. :) I know it sounds crazy, but when I get into a story, I hyperfocus and completely lose track of time.
"True professional?" *wince* I haven't published anything since 1990, and that was a poem in a college chapbook. Not giving up, though! :)
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Real writer, maybe. I'm a professional, yes, but still working on the real writer bit...
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*So sayeth the peanut gallery*
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