The Desk: Kitchen

My garret has moved to the corner of a tiny basement kitchen, but it works.
My garret has moved to the corner of a tiny basement kitchen, but it works.

Where do you find inspiration to write, or do you need it? Some might have a romantic idea of sitting in a French café (with tables outside as well), but that doesn’t work for me. I like sitting there, or some other public place, and just observe the people rushing past, but when I do the actual writing only complete silence will do the trick.

I’m currently working on a book project about living with NLD and Asberger, and inspiration is not as relevant to this project. I am also working on a novel, which is dormant while I write my memoirs, and inspiration will be more important when I write that text.

I have drawn inspiration from many sources. Public spaces such as the bus, a shopping centre/street, a café, or a park are perfect exhibitions where you can observe human behaviour. Media is also eager to show a social responsibility by providing us with stories like the seagull that was dyed orange after diving into a curry vat at a food factory in Wales. Colonel Brandon told Margaret Dashwood in Sense and Sensibility that the air in India was full of spices, but that is apparently true in Wales as well. We also needed to know about the woman in Texas who woke up with a British accent after jaw surgery, and of course the art work in the English city Hull where 3 000 people got naked, were painted blue and posed in some of Hull’s most historic locations at dawn. Mark Twain had a point when he stated that truth is stranger than fiction.

I watched a Chevy Chase-film many years ago where he played a sports journalist that resigned, moved to the country where he intended to write a book. Everything was perfect, but of course nothing is ever straightforward with a Chevy Chase character. The silence was far too loud, but that is exactly what I need, and I use noise blocking earmuffs if necessary.

Sitting down to wait for inpsiration to arrive isn’t working for me. I wouldn’t get anything done that way. There are periods when I feel more inspired than others, but I usually have to rely on discipline. I think as I write and write as I think. The words usually come to me when I start writing, and it seems that writing sets something in motion.

This will be the first of several posts about my favourite places to write, or the places that work for me. I’m in one of them right now. It’s early morning and the only sounds I can hear are the keyboard, the rain falling on the ground outside and the squeeky sounds this old house makes. I won’t hear any other sounds for a couple of hours, which will be when my family regains consciousness. That means it’s over for today. I try to do a little more writing later in the day too, but I am usually interrupted every five minutes, and after 3-4 times I find it impossible to focus. I like summer, but holidays can be frustrating because that means two months of not getting things done.

We have just moved to a new, tiny apartment. This apartment has a better standard than the one we moved from, but there are fewer rooms, and the kitchen is my only option. The kitchen table quickly became my favourite place, which is partly because of a table we just bought at a flee market. These were common in the 1970’s and I grew up with exactly the same model. We couldn’t afford the chairs that came with the table, but maybe I’ll get them later. This table still brings me back to a cramped kitchen in a 70’s low rice apartment. My words like this little corner.

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