My Writing World - The World

My writing world is not a brightly lit meadow with wildflowers. It is not by a droopy old tree by a quiet trickle of water. It is not even a luxurious office with exquisite drapes or climatized lights. No, my writing world is the world at large.

My first attempt at writing was on the kitchen table while my mother baked. The first effort at a novel was undertaken one afternoon at a sidewalk cafe in South America. This effort did not prove to be succesful but it did prove to be expensive as it carried me late into the night and thus into more and more esspressos.

I have been able to write in several different countries, but, more importantly, under very different circumstances. Perhaps the best place to write in is any place except the place in which you should write. It is not about some peaceful or effective environment but rather an obedience to the strong and sudden urge to write. That urge is an interference.Whenever that urge hits spill out whatever it is that is on your mind or in your heart.

I have written on the barf-bags of airplanes. I have written on the receipts of the groceries my mother sent me out to buy. I have written in amusement parks, bars, restaurants, offices, and in innumerable other places. Currently I write from my own little dungeon in college.Once you cross the middle-lounge pavillion and step down the corridor to my cell, you can find me behind closed doors with the heat turned up and the music on, writing, or rather spilling, whatever comes to mind.