What’s the strangest place from which you’ve posted to your blog? When was the last time you were out and about, and suddenly thought, “I need to write about this!”?
Well, to get right to the point, the strangest place from which I’ve posted to my blog is at the local Barnes & Noble, because the only other places from which I’ve posted is in my room at my house and in my room at my former dorm. I lead a fascinating life, I know.
I know some other writers find joy in sitting in public places and finding inspiration by absorbing their surroundings, but honestly it was awkward enough for me to be writing at the Barnes & Noble when I did, and only partially because I was breaking out of my comfort zone in the physical sense. There was also a guy who I accidentally led on (I still can’t tell if he actually thought he recognized me or if that was a pickup line) before declining to give him my number and watching him slowly and painfully pack up his things before leaving for the next five minutes. Very, very awkward.
When I write, I need my own space, and not even because I’m afraid of others seeing my unpublished writing (although that irks me too). Unlike the stereotypical writer, always characterized as forever observing and soaking in their environment, I am not an observer. I am honestly quite clueless when it comes to many things, and I usually need to devote most of my attention to living in the moment. Case in point: I cannot tell when a guy is hitting on me.
When all is said and done, and I’ve gone out and done things that I may or may not (ok, so mostly) regret, I can finally sit back, reflect, and write. When it comes to strange places, I’d rather write about them than from them.