When I was in the hotel in Collioure, France and the apartment in Paris, I had my little corner with a desk where I wrote each day for 2-4 hours. I knew that around the writing time I would wander, swim, eat and either Zoom with my guy or see the women on the retreat. The writing had a system and a process.
I came home hopeful after a committed two weeks of writing that I would take what was engrained in me and what I coach on - touch your writing as many times as you can - and continue the practice.
Unfortunately my condo in Los Angeles with two teenagers home for the summer is nothing like a Pied-a’-terre in Paris. NOTHING. Still, committed to write on my book, and this column, I went out this morning to find places to write. Now, may I add, I hate sound and distraction when I write. I do NOT thrive in a coffee shop teeming with conversation and music. I can’t stand having to hear the conversation of the guys who just got back from a run at Starbucks next to me. It breaks my train of thought over and over again.
So I feel like a floating vessel with my little laptop valise searching Los Angeles for anywhere to tuck into to get some peace of mind and write in a way that is funny, eloquent and poignant… only to realize the bar has now been lowered to finding just anywhere devoid of noise and distraction to do any kind of writing.
Here is the deal… we have to get able as writers to write anywhere. When I was in Paris, my window was over the most famous falafel place. Sounds of crowds and the boisterous soundtrack of the establishment rose up to meet me each day. I had to push through. We can get a cabin in the woods only to discover next door they are doing a massive renovation. You can aim to set up your space best you can, but inevitably there will be some kind of buzzing, humming, mowing, plowing, coughing, conversing, breathing, yelling, honking and interruption that makes the act of writing seem even more painful than it can already be.
Like right now I am writing in the lobby of the condo or should I say hiding. The lobby actually has wi fi and a little table, and no one would probably think to come here (or so it seems.) Aside from the loud sound of a generator pulsing incessantly fueling some kind of outdoor gardening apparatus, for the most part it’s not terrible in here. I have a view of the pool which is adorned with 1970s waterfalls and the ripple of the water in the sun is quite nice. Being upstairs right now in the condo is not an option, or at least for creative writing. My older teen is watching TV on her laptop and applying makeup at the kitchen table and my younger teen is doing an on line biology course splayed across the living room couch. If I stay there and work in my office, I hear the nose blowing and internet sound and food being made, and then inevitably there is a knock on my door asking me one of a million questions that I begrudgingly answer because a part of me knows summer is fleeting and it’s no one’s fault they are home and I am home. I mean I just was in Paris so I shouldn’t be complaining when I get questions like:
Where is the lint roller?
Did you see where I put my brush?
Do you have a headphone charger?
When can we eat lunch?
Can you make me lunch?
Do we have plans this weekend?
And, can we go get more clothes later? I have no clothes (reference stuffed closet brimming with clothes…)
I would have liked to bask a little longer in the time away writing as my primary purpose, but I also can carry with me the responsibility and commitment I established while away. I can continue to make efforts to write in the mayhem knowing this is the real truth. Being on a writing retreat in Southern France is lovely, and perhaps informs that to actually finish a book, one may need to sequester themselves. I also am able to continue to have hats off to all the people (which is most of us) who have to write in lobbies, coffee shops, outside kids sporting events, at the crack of dawn and on weekends around work schedules.
I also live somewhere that car travel is unavoidable, so I don’t have traveling by train, plane and bus so do writing. Therefore, I have to look at driving as also noise to my writing and think about the errand schedule, or whether I need to drive all the way across town to meet someone for a vegan breakfast who I could very well say hi to on Zoom.
As I was finishing this post, a woman entered the lobby and decided to have a long phone call on a speaker phone in Taiwanese as the person she is an aid to is making a series of long low bellowing responsive noises with their conversation. I can’t fucking win. I have to move again. So I go upstairs to teen-dom and decide I can finish the post in my office, I am almost done and that is when the upstairs neighbors decide it is time to vacuum the house loudly.
Time for lunch. Montana has never looked so good.
Shameless Plug:
Many of you know I am a book coach. I am a writer helping writers not just achieve their book goal, but so it in a way that they don’t feel lost, out of their minds, and can find places and spaces in which to write.
If you have a friend who keeps saying stuff like “I have to write this book but I don’t know how to even start” or “I feel like I may never achieve my book dream,” send them my way! I would love to have a starter discovery call with them.
I also have a hard time concentrating when there is music or conversations around me. It reminds me of what they say about meditation. You should be able to do it anywhere. I’m working on it! Thank you.