I’ve taken my office elsewhere today, to see what kind of inspiration can be sparked with a fresh change of scenery. That’s one of the benefits of the freelance life—your office can be packed up into the convenience of a laptop bag and is happy to travel wherever you wish to take it. Of course, there are still minor setbacks. Like the awkward glare reflecting back at me from my computer screen, due to today’s aggressive sunshine. But I cannot complain. Plus 15 degrees Celsius before St.Patty’s day? I’ll soak up those rays in any way possible.
Often, where we write is so crucial to what or how we write. And this location preference differs for each individual writer. I have been following along with Kristin Offiler’s blog series called “Where I Write,” where guest bloggers offer a sneak peek into their inspiration headquarters. And it is clear the source of creativity changes for each writer.
If I could have it my way, my dream writing scape would be looking out at the lake from the cottage (one I hope to enjoy quite often this summer). There, I would listen to the water crashing against the rocks that guard the shoreline. Birds would sing happily from the comfort of their nests, perched safely in the height of the vast pine trees. And yet there would still be a calm silence, as nature has its way; a pleasant change from the noisy commotion of city life. It is when I am in this surrounding that the words within seem to flow most freely.
Still, that is not to say I am complaining about my most common writing space—the home office. My large wooden desk holds a place for every tool or nicknack I may require. I prefer to keep everything stored in an organized manner, all papers carefully filed in the bottom drawer. My loved ones look back at me through photographs placed carefully on the shelves above my head. A book shelf across the room holds the words of my favourite authors; all of which sit ready and willing to be pulled out at any necessary moment. Behind me, my boyfriend’s desk hugs the wall below a painting of a city bridge. Even though his chair is often empty when I am diving deepest into my work, his presence remains as a source of encouragement.
Yet today, I sit outside of Timothy’s Café, my favourite of the Canadian coffee chains. The small, silver round table on which my laptop is perched shakes unevenly against the pebbled ground. Cars drive by all around me, and I am staring at the broken Future Shop sign straight ahead (under construction I presume). It’s not exactly ideal. But like I said earlier, the sun is shining brightly, my legs absorbing her warmth from beneath a pair of blue, skinny jeans. A jacket is an unnecessary precaution today. The wind blows gently through my hair every now and then, when it senses I need a slight, refreshing breeze. I write blindly, as I cannot focus on the screen through the glare. But it doesn’t bother me. I know the words are there, and that is all I need. If I had stayed inside today, glancing longingly out my office window, who knows what may have formed across the page?
Today, a café. Tomorrow, the world.
Where do you write?