The Guardian used to do a series on “Writers’ rooms.” It was cool to see where writers decide to hole themselves up and do the nitty, filthy, work of writing. Poets and Writers’ has done something similar. If you’re wondering what writers with some cash do, Pininterest has managed to find, well, Mark Twain’s wet dream.
Anyways, in pursuit of an ever better place to do the work, I’ve rented space in a studio. I’ve only been here an afternoon but I can already say there’s something clarifying about having a big wooden desk with nothing on it. Suddenly, I don’t need to walk around the living room. There seems to be less questioning as to what I actually need to get finished. And perhaps more importantly, whenever I begin to tire, I look behind and there’s a graphic designer, huddled, cussing under his breath and breaking a sweat.
That keeps me planted in the chair. Chair-time is good.