The problem with much of writing, for me, is the comfort. I don’t mean the difficult place inside each writer’s skin as they search for the most honest expression of themselves possible. I mean, there isn’t a place I’ve ever really found that allows me to hunker down for a long stretch.
For example, at this very moment, I am seated on the second step of the staircase. I’ve inhabited this area, which acts as a boundary between the kitchen, the living room, and the second story, with my writing utensils—notebook, pen, laptop, phone, and their necessary power sources—as the ideal place. It’s not comfortable, but it offers access to a tall countertop for when I wish to stand, a plug to juice the electronics, snack at an arm’s reach, the stairs for a place to rest my wary bones, and the wife is usually nearby.
In terms of focus, my little safe haven is far from protecting the greatest levels of productivity. Sometimes, I’ll alternate my Bermuda Triangle of distraction for a place on the living room’s floor with my computer on top of a lap desk. The space works until the batteries run low; thin, I’m forced to choose: move back to the original location or move all the power cords into different outlet. I, typically, never choose the latter.
Ironically, I have my own room in the house to use as a writing lair. The room best serves for the recording of podcasts, but I don’t tend to create more behind a closed door than anywhere else. Trust me, I tried. After ending too many writing sessions with a lower back screaming to leave the cushioned plastic, I decided I would rather suffer in the hub of the household.
I feel like Goldilocks without the third bear: there is nothing that fits me just right anywhere in sight. Chairs or too tall or aren’t kind to my posture after sitting for too long; my wife’s desk is too cramped, and the one in my room is wobbly; the neighbors can be heard from upstairs and barking dogs constantly dam any thoughts trying to flow from my mind to my fingertips.
I’ve even tried writing at the local coffee shop, to no avail. Instead of cancelling the noise from the TV at home with headphones playing instrumental music, I’m doing the same thing with the bizarre conversations of others. Additionally, the difference in the seating arrangements is null.
No matter the writer—either a favorite author or a sports journalist—I’m always curious how they discovered enough physical comfort to compose for the emotional relief.
Let me know!
As a side note, I may share more random ramblings since, let’s face it, I have a place in cyberspace to do so, but I’d really appreciate any readers to go follow my MMA Storytime blog—at mmastorytime.com. There, I enjoy writing fiction related to MMA, many pieces in connection with “challenges” found within the blogger-sphere.