And I don't mean existentially: in your head, your thoughts, your creative world. I mean: where? Do you curl up in a soft leather chair in a room filled with works by The Greats and call on their spirits to guide you? Do you sit ramrod straight on a balance-ball chair, working your abs while you work your creative juices? Do you pace the floor, type a sentence, pace the floor type a sentence, repeating and repeating, allowing your heals to mimic your keystrokes and vice versa?
What do you see when you write? Do you see the screen and the world you create ebbing and flowing beyond? Do you see nothing but the words on the page? Is your house around you very clear to you?
I have children. Young children. If I write, the time is limited and I have to find the quietest place possible. And that place varies. Right now it is my living room. The large picture windows show me beautiful October leaves carrying
Autumn raindrops. The white trim stands stark against the Pottery Barn Quincy Tan. My laptop rests on my lap, on an upside down ottoman lid. It's perfect because it's upholstered on one side and cloth-covered board on the other. A mix of opera plays quietly on the stereo. This is my peace. Today. For now.
How about you?
(Want to be inspired by beautiful places? Check out the gorgeous libraries at Curious Expeditions. I found the site through the American Short Fiction blog.)
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