Writing is much inspired by environmental options, which are quite particular to each writer. While some may work best ensconced in a quiet garret, others might prefer a bit of noise in semi-seclusion.
I find that my taste generally runs to the latter, since my muse enjoys the soft murmuring of subdued conversations all about, and she loves warm, cuddlesome settings that run rich in deep wooden hues.
I am fortunate to live in a town that supports a plethora of intimate cafes, mainstream coffee shops, and a great many restaurants. And yet, I am often troubled while trying to compose in public places.
The difficulties arise when the room I've been quietly working in for an hour or so begins to get noisy. Here I had this place much to myself, but suddenly there is a game playing on the big screen TV!
Corporate fetes, private parties, and all manner of gatherings seem to find me out and, though they have every right to be there, they tend to edge me out of the room with ever increasing decibels of clamor.
And so, I gather up my things, gulp down the last of a cookie, and toss away what's left of my coffee as I make speedily for the door. At least it was peaceful, and ever so perfect, before the horde moved in.
Such is my recurring lament, for I am caught between the dry and solitary isolation of working at home, and a temperamental muse that is incredibly hypersensitive to environmental ambiance.
Thus, I roam about this town like a nomad in search of oasis after oasis. Still there is the benefit of getting a bit of exercise between seats, and the agreeable fresh air ... but try telling that to my muse.
I find that my taste generally runs to the latter, since my muse enjoys the soft murmuring of subdued conversations all about, and she loves warm, cuddlesome settings that run rich in deep wooden hues.
I am fortunate to live in a town that supports a plethora of intimate cafes, mainstream coffee shops, and a great many restaurants. And yet, I am often troubled while trying to compose in public places.
The difficulties arise when the room I've been quietly working in for an hour or so begins to get noisy. Here I had this place much to myself, but suddenly there is a game playing on the big screen TV!
Corporate fetes, private parties, and all manner of gatherings seem to find me out and, though they have every right to be there, they tend to edge me out of the room with ever increasing decibels of clamor.
And so, I gather up my things, gulp down the last of a cookie, and toss away what's left of my coffee as I make speedily for the door. At least it was peaceful, and ever so perfect, before the horde moved in.
Such is my recurring lament, for I am caught between the dry and solitary isolation of working at home, and a temperamental muse that is incredibly hypersensitive to environmental ambiance.
Thus, I roam about this town like a nomad in search of oasis after oasis. Still there is the benefit of getting a bit of exercise between seats, and the agreeable fresh air ... but try telling that to my muse.
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