A Place of My Own

A Place of My Own

I don’t write well when I’m at home. I’m not certain what it is, but there’s a feeling there that doesn’t seem to be present when I’m elsewhere. Part of it is, I’m certain, the many and various distractions present at home. Still, when I’m out, even if it’s just to a mall food court, I can sit down and write pages and not notice the hustle and bustle around me.

Instead of attempting to overcome it (as has been my failed method for the past while), perhaps I should just try and go with it. After all, I’m a bit of a homebody, and it really wouldn’t hurt for me to spend more time out of the apartment.

What I need, are some suitable locations. Coffee shops tend to top that list, but I’m forcing myself to cut down my caffeine intake. (I’m a night owl by nature, and there’s really no need to compound that problem.) The library is another good choice. That one might also help with developing discipline, if I can manage to leave it without taking more books with me each time. Food courts, as previously mentioned, are also on there, but my diet’s got too much fast food in it already, so I might pass on those, too.

The ideal, of course, would be an office I could go to, just to write. With a desk, maybe two: one for the computer and one for longhand, some comfy chairs, a dictionary or two, and that’s it. No distractions, no waistline-expanding foods, no hyper-inducing drinks, no tempting books, just a place to write.

One day, I’ll find that place, or make it. Until then, I’ll work as I can, and figure out the way to get it.

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