The last time I was able to write on a desk was back in my senior year of high school. Since then, I found that my creative juices flowed best when I wrote in my bed — pillow tucked under my chest, diary or notebook open, and pen gliding across the pages. I wrote my daily journal, fanfiction, fangirl ideas, and poetry.
Upon stepping into college, I realize that I only ever used my desk for schoolwork. I suppose it was more of a psychological compartmentalization: that anything that involved “work” had to stay on my desk, while anything that was more personal or intimate, had a privileged place in my bed.
Drawing was an exception, though. I really needed my desk for that 😛 !
When I realized that writing on my bed did not do my arms and posture any favors, I ended up migrating to the family’s large dining table. It did not help that the practice carried over my maternal grandmother’s house, and that of my cousin’s whenever we ended up drawing together. It just made sense, really: the big, circular tables were more conducive to large sketchpads, and scattered drawing and coloring materials — most especially when you are sharing the space with someone else.
The practice somewhat carried over to writing. I realized that in the past three years, I only ever got to write my blog at my cubicle at work. At my desk at home, I usually just end up roleplaying or watching movies and anime. If I wanted to write a blog post, I just wanted to be elsewhere.
I suppose, again, it had its psychological justification: my diary/journal writing, roleplaying, drawing — hobbies and activities that I deemed secret and/or intimate — stay with me at home. Blogging, which is more of a public persona, a piece of me in the public sphere, has to be written in a somewhat public place: I write with the awareness that the words I am putting to paper and typing to screen are going to be seen by other people.
It is only lately though that I have become more comfortable working — writing, for that matter — wherever the fancy strikes me. What I look for nowadays are peaceful places with enough background noise to remind me of the world’s pulse. I can write at dawn, at noon, at midnight (it does help to have shifting schedules! Hahaha!) I prefer writing in a notebook, or on a piece of lined paper, and with a pen — a fountain pen is a favorite, though I can do with any kind of black- or blue-inked pen. Drinks are optional — I only have coffee if I am in a coffee shop. At home, I make do with whatever’s available.
As I grew older, my “ideal” setup for writing has become less of the external environment, and more of the discipline and commitment to writing. Today, for instance, I would really rather sleep and push today’s Writing 101 prompt to tomorrow; but what the heck? Why did I sign up for the program in the first place?
It does not really matter as to where I am whenever I feel the need to put my (literal and figurative) pen to paper — so long as I can be present to write the lines that connect my heart to the page.