A {Writing} Place of My Own

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Having a comfortable place to write is important to me. It should have everything I need. It should be inviting, clean and pleasing to the senses.
 
That seems like too much to ask. Maybe I should learn to write in crowds, or at a restaurant, or on the beach. But I know I can’t. It’s a feature of my INFJ personality (extroverted sensing so my surrounding environment affects me), and it’s also because I’m a highly sensitive person(HSP).
 
If I’m surrounded by mess, or the temperature is too high or low…if the wind is blowing my hair across my face… if there are too many ants crawling on the picnic table… if there is a strong smell of smoke or perfume or garbage… if I’m hungry or thirsty and I’m far from refreshment… if television is playing in the background, or loud conversations or music is part of the environment… if there are frequent interruptions … or any conditions that might affect me in a negative way, it is nearly impossible for me to focus.
 
Today’s prompt suggested that I try writing from a different location. But I don’t have one right now. That happens to be one of the more annoying aspects of my current circumstances.
 
I write from a couch, which also happens to be my bed. And sometimes I write at work when I have the opportunity.
 
I enjoy nature. But a cold front has just moved into central Florida, and I’m not eager to go anywhere outside.
 
I don’t even have a clean table to work on. It’s not my house, and I’m not up to cleaning it right now.
 
I need a place of my own. I’m working on it. But I’ve been displaced.
 
I’ve never had a place of my own to write. I don’t know what that feels like.

My Secret Ingredient

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I am told that I make good pancakes.

Even if I weren’t told this, I would know it. Because I taste them, and they taste good, and I have good taste.

They’re the perfect color. Golden yellow with light brown edges. Crisp on the outside but fluffy and soft on the inside.

I am patient. I wait until the just-right amount of bubbles appear on the surface of the round puddle of mix. A puddle that is not too thick and not too thin. I resist the urge to peek, and I stand guard as they cook. When the bubbly surface begins to look dry-ish, I know it’s time to flip them. Timing is everything. You cannot flip them a moment too soon because you must only do it once. Multiple flips will mean the texture is lost.

They look good. But the taste is what really sets them apart. Sweet but not too sweet. Delicate, not doughy.

I have a secret.

The secret ingredient is buttermilk, and it makes all the difference.

Writing isn’t much different than making good pancakes.

It starts with good taste. You don’t need anyone to tell you your writing is good except you, though it is encouraging when they do (and it helps).

You need patience. A sense of when a piece of writing is finished, not over or underdone.

But most of all you need a writer’s secret ingredient: persistence. You have to show up and write consistently and persistently enough to grow and produce work of quality.

Growing as a Writer {a 21 Day Challenge}

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I want to grow as a writer. My plan is to show up here every day and write something.

Poetry. Dreams. Memories. Stories. Observations. Thoughts. Feelings. Whatever.

I’m told that I need the practice. And that something magical happens when you just write. So I’ve decided to take on a daily writing challenge. I’m going to write here every day. I’ll be using some prompts.

After 21 days, I’m going to look back at what I’ve written. I’ll see what themes emerge. I’ll find my voice. Writing every day will be a habit, and I’ll train my brain to think like a writer. Well, that’s the idea anyway.

Here’s what I know about writing:

There’s a voice in my head. It’s the voice of every book or poem I’ve ever read. When I arrange words and read them out loud in my head, the voice tells me if they sound right. If they flow. If they sound like the what I’ve read.

Neat. Polished. Nothing messy. No sordid details. Clean, clever and cold. Censored and sifted. Careful. This is how I write.

Maybe I’m reading the wrong books?

This is day two. Read day one’s post here.