There’s nothing so sacred to a writer as a good writing space. Once we find one—be it at home, a coffee shop, a library, wherever—we tend to return to it over and over again until productivity in that space falls off. In other words, until the mojo wears off. It may seem superstitious, like carrying a lucky penny or refusing to wash your socks during your team’s tournament run, but, in my mind, it’s nothing but practical. 

It can be difficult to block out all of the distractions surrounding us. There are the noises: other people’s conversations, children asking for attention, televisions, birds chirping outside the window reminding us how beautiful it is and how much we’d rather be outdoors enjoying it. And smells: fresh-baked goods at the coffee shop, the smell of dinner cooking, the stench of the litter box needing cleaned. And sights: the book we want to keep reading, the bills we need to pay, the cat we really should play with more, the sink full of dishes that suddenly seems more urgent because we need distraction from staring at the blank page on our screens. 

So, when I find a space in which I can finally concentrate and ignore all other outside stimuli, I cherish it. It’s a comfort zone, a Zen garden, surrounded by an aura of creative inspiration. In reality, it’s just a place where I feel contented and able to keep my butt in the chair while I sip chai tea and listen to movie soundtracks on my I-Pod so that I can focus on writing. The last two criteria are amazingly easy to meet, it’s the first two that are not. And one spot may foster contentment one day and not the next. Yes, I know it’s partly, if not completely, related to the state of my mind at the time, and I suppose that’s where the superstitious comes in. However, it does no good to tell yourself this because you simply waste time trying to get into the zone instead of sliding into it effortlessly. 

My writing spaces often rotate. For two weeks, I’m buzzing along in my manuscript at home, and then suddenly I can’t write a word. So, I move to Starbucks, where a week goes by and I’m fully satisfied with my progress. And so on, and so forth. When I find a space that works, I stick with it until it does not. 

My most recent space was at the local Borders, where I hammered out between 3,000 – 5,000 words a day for three days in a row. I was in the zone. So, you can imagine my frustration when I walked into Borders this morning to discover their café area is now closed. I wanted to howl in frustration. I knew the store had recently been added to the closures list due to Borders bankruptcy, but as the website said they would not be closing until late May, I thought I had at least a month and half left to patronize them. I was disappointed enough to hear they were closing, and now this just makes it worse. You just can’t mess with a girl’s writing space like that.

I’m back home, aggravated to have wasted my time, and trying to coax myself into a more creative state of mind, all the while trying to resist cracking open the new book I purchased yesterday that’s calling my name. Must…be strong. Must…not…give in…