Where I Write

Hi! Haven't posted in awhile. Life assaulted me lately, hitting me from all sides. I have become a ghost, lurking around my virtual spaces, but never interacting. So with a *shove* I'm going to kick my butt in gear! :P

Where do I write?

Anywhere really. Right now, I am sitting on my Ikea couch. My guy is playing a game. There is a lamp on behind me and a fan running under the living room window.

I find that where I write has changed overtime. The first time I mastered the whole Butt-In-Chair scenario I was 17. I had just graduated High School, I had a crappy draft of a 1st novel tucked away, and was determined to crank out a "sequel." I woke up at 7am every morning that summer. I ate my cereal, poured tea--Captain's Stash Chai--turned on Lorena McKennit (changed up the albums, though) and plunged into Traitor Born. I wrote all 200 pages (forget the word count, so bad of me) on my mother's computer, in her office. Mom, naturally, was at work.

That summer I spent more time on Mom's computer than she did. By July she began to realize this. Then she thought, maybe, just maybe, she wanted to return to her poetry. Which she does, sporadically. But it seems to me that that's how poets work, in infrequent bursts. I could be wrong, maybe it's just my mom.

Anyhow, her realization was followed by a decision: Drea needed a laptop. Well, I was certainly grateful. I signed up for all afternoon and evening classes for my first semester at Community College, leaving my mornings open to write. I wrote some by hand at the neighborhood Starbucks, and then returned home to commit myself to my work. Then off to classes I went. Starbucks became the Writing Spot during my community college years. I could make a mocha last five hours, and wrote a ton in that time.

I was desperate to find people to critique Arrelle and Traitor Born. Arrelle took on greater length and complexity until it's own weight made it clearly unfeasible. So I pushed on with Traitor Born.

When I transfered to San Fransisco State, I wrote on my desktop during the week. but I wrote little. Life began to interfere. My roomate was silent, she could glide behind me so soft I couldn't hear a step. She could open the door so gently it wouldn't make a noise. The apartment-mates were cousins, and they watched a lot of movies. I hate the sound of people talking in another room. Talk radio makes me anxious. Needless to say, I was not comfortable with the continual onslaught of noise. I like music and silence. I like the TV on if I'm going to watch it.

I have, now, become accustom to the sound of computer and video games.

I transferred to Sacramento State and divvied my time between desktop and laptop. Then laptop died, and all time was spent in front of the desktop. Which worked out well, because I got a job at Starbucks that fall and moved out early the next year. Now, Starbucks has NO creative vibe for me at all.

Our first Christmas in our first rental, my wonderful guy got me a laptop and ring--not an engagement ring, we're still working on that one. But I have been wearing his gift for three years now :P The laptop is the one I'm currently using.

When the economy hit, two years ago, we moved. Then, last year, we moved again. Trying to find a system to keep our heads up and reach all of our goals. I graduated college, finally. But work has been elusive. I had abandoned Starbucks for an office job,but that was contingent on attending school. No school, no work.

I resumed Butt-In-Chair (figuratively) last summer. Really, I sat on the floor with my laptop. I worked on a "new project."

But none of my projects are ever completely "new." I tend to recycle, reform, and re-approach ideas. Then I added Blogging to the list of my efforts when fiction ran dry. Silly life, always interfering with the mental process.

I try to resume the cafe-pattern when I feel "dry." Mind, "dry" isn't writer's block, per se, it's more a feeling that I need to put my writing on "pause," because I have unexpected life issues to sort before I can sit down and dedicate myself to my imagination. I feel that "going to a cafe," should somehow trigger the older patterns.

It doesn't.

I've found my new favorite spot. I just moved, you see. I'm no longer on the couch. This is the second time I've returned to the dining chair by the table in the corner of my living room. Ornery me, the laptop is on my knee rather than the table. I'm holding the computer with my left hand while I type with my right. I think I'll stay here the rest of the night. Perhaps this will be my new writing place.

Perhaps, in all the places I've lived, in all the phases of my life, I will find a new place to write. Because it isn't the spot that matters. It is the act of writing itself. I should be able to write anywhere, anytime. Because this isn't a muscle I can turn off intentionally :D