Every writer needs a happy writing place. And if we don’t, that is often the prime excuse we make for not writing. My computer crashed and I lost all my files is a good one. My significant other and I broke up works. Hey, I had to walk the dog. The baby is teething. The line at Starbucks was like, you know, around the block. Okay, and the dog ate my flashdrive – this may be a reach. Although my daughter’s dog did eat my passport.
I am sure you have your own stash of rational, perfectly believable excuses for not writing.
Back in the beginnings of my writing life, I lived in LALA Land. Coffee and the NY Times at the famed Farmer’s Market on Fairfax Avenue every morning from 8am til lunch time was the perfect excuse to put off writing.
The regulars included writer/director Paul Mazursky, screenwriters Leon Capetanos, Bill Kerby, Carl Gottleib, [IMDB them and see their credits], lots of working writers and wishing they were working writers.
My observation, as a young fledgling writer: not a lot of writing was getting done at the Farmer’s Market, but it seemed a necessary ritual.
The excuse? Well, you had to be in your special space to write; your desk, your typewriter [yes, typewriter] your legal pad and special pencils, your room, patio, balcony, garage, cubby, porch, alcove, your chair, the light just right. All the elements of the Universe would have to align before the “genius at work” could actually work.
I have had three sanctuary/happy writing places that played marked roles in my career. And there was definitely a special energy that I am convinced inhabited each of these happy writing places.
At the high end, the “Top of the Mountain” of my happy writing places for 20 years was simply called “The Barn”.