I’ve moved from my usual writing space – the icy study – onto the couch in the lounge with the heater blazing. The change has made me realise how much I lose myself in that little room with the IKEA bookshelf and ocean blue wardrobe doors. Out here, in the open, I feel vulnerable. I’m home alone and it’s remarkably obvious compared to when I’m tucked away in the study.
Of course, all writers have to write when they’re alone, whether they’re in an empty attic or in a bustling café. There might be people all around you but you’ve lost yourself in the typing of words, barely realising that your coffee has gone cold. The people around you don’t exist, they become the imaginary and your written world the reality. You alone occupy that world.
On the other hand, you may be alone but you can’t enter that world. It might be that you’re like me and are constantly looking behind yourself to find what was making that shadow that you were sure you saw hovering out of the corner of your eye. Or you could just be distracted by the new sights, the smells and sounds.
It just depends where you write best. I’m constantly distracted by people watching when I venture out of the house. People are fascinating. Just try to make sure they don’t catch you looking. Especially if they are 7-foot men with steroid aided bulging muscles.
That’s why I retreat to my study and snap at The Partner if he dares to interrupt me. I don’t want to be drawn back into reality for a single second because that disrupts the flow. The muse heads for the hills and I may as well go play Legend of Zelda. At least I can talk and slash at skulltulas at the same time.
What about yourself? Can you lose yourself anywhere? Or do you have that one special spot that unleashes all of your creativity?