I do not write in a box. I do not write with a fox.
Would you, could you on a plane? Would you, could you on a train?
That pestering little Sam I Am got me thinking about where I write. And the answer is: I write on a plane, on a train, in a box with a fox. I will write here and there. I will write everywhere. Metaphorically speaking. Because writing happens not just when I put pen to paper or fingers to keyboard. It happens when I don’t expect to be assaulted by ideas or my protagonist’s voice, during sleep or those meditative, repetitive activities—steamy showers, driving, exercising, eating green eggs and ham… All of that staring out of the window processing is writing time, too.
This processing is when plot threads and characters simmer in a chunky word stew and float to the surface when they’re properly cooked. It’s essential, though I find I have to remember not to badger myself sometimes about not making the word count that day.
Point is, writing is as much about stringing sentences together as it is digesting our reflections on character, human struggle, LIFE. In order to do this well we need TIME. Time to let our minds wander, even if it’s on a boat with a goat. Because smelling that goat, feeding it, listening to it bleat as the boat rocks over storm-tossed waves gives us kernels of inspiration that lead us to AMAZING ideas and beautiful books.
So yes, I write everywhere and nowhere specific. (Though I’m always on the look out for some place cozy and atmospheric with good coffee or wine). As for that processing time, I want Observation Deck A, then a nice long shower to let those ideas stew.
How do you process all of the lovely story gobbly-gook that becomes your novel?