Where’s your perfect place to write?

Writers throughout history have been asked that same question over and over and over and over, and I’ve even addressed it several times right here on this blog, and I’m about to tell you that I have found the answer. Yes, blogosphere. I have found an answer to a question that I honestly believed didn’t have one until earlier today.

IT DOESN’T EXIST.

Now, hang on. Hang on, I know that sounds awfully pessimistic of me, and believe me I don’t like the answer any better than you do, but here’s how I came to this conclusion:

I packed my writing bag and decided that, like yesterday, I would go to Starbucks and get myself a strawberry açaí refresher with mango and no strawberries, and I would go to the Henry Ford Centennial Library for a little writing. But then I got hungry, so I ended up at Westborn Market and I got myself a little pasta. And after that, I just drove around. I was like, “I want to go somewhere and be able to eat my pasta and write but you can’t eat in the library and I’m really hungry” and that’s when the decision to go home was made. But I wasn’t there for long. After eating my pasta and watching half of The Runaways I told myself that I was either going to take a nap or go somewhere and write.

I never went for my refresher but I did end up at Starbucks to get a s’mores Frappuccino. And after that I made my way to the Caroline Kennedy Library in Dearborn Heights. Here’s where my afternoon went off the rails.

The school across the street let out and all of the children made their way to the library. Children who are hanging out at the library for reasons unbeknownst to me. I push my way through the crowd and find a table with an outlet and I set everything out, ready to write. YES! This is how I felt yesterday! And I got a LOT of writing done yes-

*cell phone chime*

I, I mean, I got a lot of writing done-

*cell phone chime*

Fucking seriously? Sigh. Okay. Like I was saying, this is how I got a lot of writing done yesterday so I figured that today would be just as productive.

Except I think I wrote three pages total. And they’re terrible pages.

Normally I love this library. I find it comforting and soothing to both me and my muses and I love coming here to write, but with all of the kids and the teenagers and the shuffling of papers and the PEOPLE (I think it’s the people part of this that is pissing me off the most today) I can’t do it. I just can’t get anything of any substance on paper.

When my parents were in town for graduation I mentioned to my father that what I really need is to get a hotel at random times in random places and use that time to write. And I think, starting this summer, I am going to be doing just that. Maybe I can start at the Westin at the airport and work my way around from there.

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