Every writer needs their space to create. Stephen King summed this idea up perfectly in his masterful memoir on writing, titled On Writing, where he says:
Wherever you write is supposed to be a little bit of a refuge, a place where you can get away from the world. The more closed in you are, the more you’re forced back on your own imagination.
I find this to be true. Now, in the past, my writing refuge was merely at my desk, in my bedroom, away from the nuisances and distractions from the outside world. But once I moved to Los Angeles, things changed.
You see, I wasn’t gonna ship any furniture across the goddamn country. And since I am unemployed and nearly broke, there’s no buying a nice, fancy desk right now.
Also, I am not the type to hunker down in some
Starbucks Coffee Bean or wherever and do the stereotypical “writer in a café” thing. I mean, I have done that, but ironically.
And while I do so love the Writers Guild of America and the fact that they open their Shavelson-Webb Library to anyone — and I mean anyone — who wants to come through and write as well as read any of the several thousand scripts they have on hand, I just can’t go there and get a significant amount of work done. Just doesn’t work for me.
So I’ve been writing in a most unusual and unexpected place: the kitchen.
I know, right, super cool. This is shit you really wanna know about.
Look, whatever. I promised y’all a long time ago that I would share my life as a writer with y’all, so that’s what I’m doing. You will deal.
And yes, my current favorite place to write is at the kitchen dining table. I mean, really, it’s no great shakes, but for the past month or so it’s been the spot where I’ve plugged in the MacBook Air, set out my notes, and gotten to work.
And, oh my, to quote L3-37, it works.
It’s at the kitchen table that I’ve gotten nearly halfway through my current work-in-progress, Fetch the Treasure. It’s where I like to bind my screenplays the old fashioned way, with brass Acco fasteners and washers. It’s the location where I’ve been blogging as of late. And yes, friends, it’s where I’ve composed cover letters and sent resumes to potential employers who won’t deign to respond. Sorry if I keep coming back to that. Clearly, it’s a sore spot for the kid.
So, yeah. This is, as a Lothario might say, where the magic happens. Perhaps once I start working an earning some coin I can afford a nice, fancy desk at which to pen my future literary and silver-screen masterpieces. But until that day, I’ve got a seat at the ugly round table in the kitchen.
Ah, well. Let’s get cooking, kids.