Last Minute Genius

Daily Post:

Where do you produce your best writing — at your desk, on your phone, at a noisy café? Tell us how the environment affects your creativity.

 

My writing is not necessarily environment-restricted, but where I am definitely has an influence on the words that float out of my head. I find that I usually write best in a space that is not my own – for some reason, a measure of discomfort (or unfamiliarity maybe?) helps me get my flow going. Perhaps I tap into the hustle and bustle around me, using the humming energy to fuel my own imagination.

I can, however, also work in a still environment. There were times, back when I attended college like a good participant of this society, when I wrote pages upon pages sitting at the desk (only rarely with music) in my dorm room. That was usually a last resort, though – late nights fueled with artificial energy pumping through my veins, frantic fingers clanking out words that almost danced on the screen…what insanity, what accelerated focus! I admire myself in those days. Intense, manic almost, determined to be a last minute genius. Funnily, it kinda worked. I always received excellent feedback on my writing abilities. Maybe I just write better that way sometimes.

Every once in a while, though, there’s a specific place that I have to be in order to successfully write. I can’t really explain why – maybe once in a while my brain only unlocks with a certain key – but it’s always a place that’s readily available to me, such as a school library or certain study lounge. It’s only happened to me while, and only while in school. Now, my creativity and eloquence are more fluid, more available. Always a bit sporadic, though; my mind doesn’t play the consistent game very well. White noise does help; that, at least, I’ve gathered over the years. Too much of nothing sends my brain in circles.

In addition, I’ve managed to create this post over a few different locations – that might say something about my work space preferences. All in all, I have a hunch it doesn’t really matter. If something insides me truly needs to reach daylight, it’ll squeeze, squirm, and argue its way out of me like sweat on a hot summer day. Beads, lines even, that I can’t control, dampening my eyebrows and skin in protest of my body’s own suffering.

Basically, I love writing. And if I can – if I’m lucky enough to touch the goddess of inspiration – I’ll do my best to make it happen.