I can write anywhere, and this has been proven over and over. I wrote final revisions on the new book on a couch in Los Angeles. I wrote the first draft of my novel in my apartment without furniture in Halifax. I wrote what became my first published book in the spare room of my best friend’s house. I’m writing this on her new (and incredibly uncomfortable) couch right now. I’m writing this on my MacBook Air, but I also write longhand with a pen and notebook. I can write anywhere with anything, which is good, because I have to. I don’t have a desk. I have a laptop and a lap, and that’s how I do almost all of my writing.
But I’m finding myself yearning for a desk and a desktop computer to go with it. I do everything on this computer, and I love it, and it works. But because I use it for everything, I often want to do everything when I should be writing. To have a place that is just for writing feels like luxury when it should be fundamental to a writer’s life. I write in bed at night, in the living room amid conversation, in the morning before I’m really awake. That works for me, but it also means that I am always writing: morning, afternoon, and night. I don’t know how to stop anymore. I don’t know when to go to sleep because I’ve done good writing after midnight before. Maybe I will again. I don’t need an office with a locked door, but a desk and a comfortable chair would be a helpful first step to putting writing in its place and letting me get on with my life.
Until I have the space and the money to make that space, here’s what I’m trying to do: I’m trying to do my internet browsing on my phone instead of my laptop. I’m trying to close my computer in the evenings and open it after I get up in the morning. I’m trying to draw a line between the work I do here, on my laptop, and the fun I do there, on my phone. I’m trying to find a place where all I have to do is write.