I was thinking about this the other day, and remembered a short piece of free prose that I wrote on the subject as part of a writing exercise ages ago.
Anyway, I thought I’d share it here and then pose the question to you, dear Reader.
So, have a read and then tell me: where do you write best? Do you prefer music or absolute silence? What materials do you need? Can you only write when inspiration strikes, or are you a disciplinarian who works their muse hard?
I’m looking forward to hearing all your writerly quirks!
I write where it’s light; in the sun’s bright rays or by the grainy glow of my bedside lamp. Under a duvet, or the bluest of skies. Under a cloud, though it’s harder that way.
I write with the lark and I write with the owl, and I write all alone as I watch the world slip by my window, perched upon the kitchen sink.
I write on the sofa, curled tight to protect my seedling words, or sometimes stretched on the floor with a smile on my lips when I know in the flow of my heart there is gold.
I can even write standing up, in the checkout line or waiting for the man at the bank to stamp his pad and call my number in turn.
On the bus I write longhand with the stub of a pencil, cursive cramping my fingers into claws, scratching words on the back of an envelope.
On the train I pour out my thoughts in a clatter of keys on the shiny black laptop that lives in my bag, next to my ticket and lipgloss and gum.
And sometimes in the library I write in a Moleskine pad, feeling the weight of the literati set, the force of tradition and all it implies.
I write, in short, where the writing is. Which is anywhere, nowhere and in between. But rarely, it seems, at my desk.