where I write
(I'm doing an experiment with posting my thoughts. Apologies if this gets as tedious as I'm afraid it might.)
The thing is, I'm trying to finish a novel. It's been a fairly tough slog for the last few months; surprisingly so, in some ways, because I really enjoy this book and its characters. On the other hand I wrote two novels between the first Moonshine and this sequel, and I feel like that sort of thing can really put off your writerly mojo.
Which brings me to the putative topic: where I do it. On the bed, on the couch, on the kitchen table, ha ha, I know. Often, in coffee shops. Mostly by myself. I have trouble writing in groups, though it's a popular activity here in the big apple since we have such a glut of writers. My trouble is that I talk too much, so everyone benefits when I stay home. I don't have a writers desk. I do technically, but I only occasionally write there. I've discovered that I'm not one of those people who can write in a single place. Even if I'm staying in my apartment, I'll move to every possible writing space every few hours. Part of this is because I'm so procrastination-prone that I hope that I can shake off the doldrums by changing pace. Sometimes this works. Sometimes I have to remind myself that I've written nearly-ten novels, because I begin to seriously doubt my ability to do anything at all.
Lately, I've gotten a great deal done late at night, in the dark, in my bed. Sometimes I wonder if it's because on my very bad procrastination days, exhaustion is the only thing that can make me focus. Again, I like coffee shops, but they're unfortunately very spotty in their writer-friendliness. Every "perfect" coffee shop has issues. The one around the corner from me has good coffee or bad coffee depending on who prepares it. Sometimes the music is relatively mild at mid-volume. Sometimes it's blaring. On a good day in a coffee shop, I can focus and get more work done in a shorter period of time than I can at home. But on a bad day, I'll call it quits after four hours with a hole in my wallet and just a hundred words to show for it.
Right now, for example, I'm sitting in my bed with my second pot of green tea, writing this blog post (a blog post!) instead of finishing my novel. Which is due I don't even want to say when.
Time to write, huh?
The thing is, I'm trying to finish a novel. It's been a fairly tough slog for the last few months; surprisingly so, in some ways, because I really enjoy this book and its characters. On the other hand I wrote two novels between the first Moonshine and this sequel, and I feel like that sort of thing can really put off your writerly mojo.
Which brings me to the putative topic: where I do it. On the bed, on the couch, on the kitchen table, ha ha, I know. Often, in coffee shops. Mostly by myself. I have trouble writing in groups, though it's a popular activity here in the big apple since we have such a glut of writers. My trouble is that I talk too much, so everyone benefits when I stay home. I don't have a writers desk. I do technically, but I only occasionally write there. I've discovered that I'm not one of those people who can write in a single place. Even if I'm staying in my apartment, I'll move to every possible writing space every few hours. Part of this is because I'm so procrastination-prone that I hope that I can shake off the doldrums by changing pace. Sometimes this works. Sometimes I have to remind myself that I've written nearly-ten novels, because I begin to seriously doubt my ability to do anything at all.
Lately, I've gotten a great deal done late at night, in the dark, in my bed. Sometimes I wonder if it's because on my very bad procrastination days, exhaustion is the only thing that can make me focus. Again, I like coffee shops, but they're unfortunately very spotty in their writer-friendliness. Every "perfect" coffee shop has issues. The one around the corner from me has good coffee or bad coffee depending on who prepares it. Sometimes the music is relatively mild at mid-volume. Sometimes it's blaring. On a good day in a coffee shop, I can focus and get more work done in a shorter period of time than I can at home. But on a bad day, I'll call it quits after four hours with a hole in my wallet and just a hundred words to show for it.
Right now, for example, I'm sitting in my bed with my second pot of green tea, writing this blog post (a blog post!) instead of finishing my novel. Which is due I don't even want to say when.
Time to write, huh?