Weird Places I’ve Written, and Why Inspiration is a Luxury

What’s one lie you keep telling yourself? I’ll go first. “I’m going to write today”.

Five words is all it takes. Just five words act as the catalyst for my growing Pinocchio nose, each day finding five excuses to postpone that precise moment when my pen meets paper (more like when my fingers meet the keyboard). 

Regardless of the failed attempts at setting aside the time to write, my tank of gas seems to sit at empty. My typical writing routine goes as follows: sit at desk; open laptop; stare at manuscript; contemplate dragging manuscript to that little trash can on the bottom right of my screen; open a new tab to some store I can’t afford and fill a shopping cart; slam laptop shut; throw myself dramatically on my bed, sulking in a mind racing with the antithesis of manifestations. This loss of motivation, or what we like to call a writing slump, has made me seriously reconsider what inspiration means to me, and why I even write in the first place. No better way to reflect on inspiration than by thinking of some of the times I really felt proud of my writing, and where these pieces were conceived.

Welcome to this sub-segment of weird places I’ve written!

Place #1

A Taco Bell parking lot. It started as a late night snack break, but a random thought quickly turned into my thumbs moving in rhythmic choreography on the dance floor of my iPhone’s Notes App, all while sitting in my parked car. In that parking lot, I was so caught up in the work that I'd forgotten I even had a half-eaten CrunchWrap in the car.

Place #2

My bathroom floor. Creaky tile and all, I’m always sitting against the chilled porcelain bathtub, slapping at my keyboard until my eyes grow parched for sunlight and moisture. Although a random writing spot, this one is oddly one of the few places that my mind stops wandering enough to focus on whatever I’m working on. Totally worth the sore tailbones.

I hear, and this evidence slightly suggests, that place is an important factor of a writing routine, but not in the same way I thought. I seem to let inspiration hit me like a truck. And when the truck doesn’t hit me full force, I give up.

But what I think I'm just starting to understand, is that being a writer isn’t just about the product. It’s about the writing itself. How the process makes us feel. For me? The process itself is a bigger thrill than having a product at the end of it.

Biggest takeaway? Inspiration is a luxury. But so is the act of writing itself. Don’t let due dates, word counts, and submission deadlines let you forget it.