Ah, this one’s more complicated than it looks. I grew up with four siblings and it seems like we constantly have house guests or extras around. So, I like to write anywhere that no one is poking me, talking to me, waving their arms, sitting on my hands while I type (you know how you are), talking loudly on the phone, asking for food, handing me papers to sign, standing around with bandaids or pressing medical issues, crying, or just in general expecting me to interact with them. This means I usually need to leave the house.
The good news: I can write any place I’m not being actively bothered. I’ve written outside at my blue desk staring at the ocean, at cafes, in airplanes, in airports, on friends’ couches, at the beach, in the closet, in a snow cave (that one’s hard to do for very long), on the subway, and in the bathroom at night (hotel room with roommates).
Right now I write at Starbucks. I put on my headphones, sip my chai, and drink up the air conditioning. I like to write where it’s chilly enough to need a light jacket or a long-sleeved shirt. In Hawaii, that’s not easy. I like to write in the corner with my back against the wall so no Nazis can sneak up on me. I like to go out into the bright, warm sunshine when I’m finished so that I can remember that, as real as it seemed while I was writing it, I actually made it all up and the real world is much warmer and fuzzier and gentler (yes, I know that’s not really true, but it’s what I like to think, so don’t burst my bubble).
My favorite place to write: from deep inside my head, from that place where you can’t hear any noises no matter how loud they are, where you don’t notice people walking by, where you don’t even realize that time is passing. As long as no one pokes me, I can get there almost any where. On good days.
How about you? How do you get to the magic place?
Rebecca Cantrell, A Trace of Smoke
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