In 2020, many of our private writing areas doubled as our offices. My job at that time was tedious, not creative, and of little interest to me, but it funded my education and my cat’s food. It was necessary. However, when the work day would wrap up, I felt stifled at my desk. So often I heard the advice to get out of the house, go write in a coffee shop or a park. So I tried. But between keeping safe distance from others, sanitizing, and trying to enter a creative mindspace- it wasn’t super effective. 

Now, in a [not really] post-pandemic world, I see people on their laptops in coffee shops again and people writing in their notebooks in parks; each time I note it as a practice I should employ in my life. However, every trip out of the house to write feels fraught with unpredictability and, frankly, a lack of actual writing. Here are the things I have learned each time I move outside my home to write and each time I fail.

Don’t Bring Anything You Need with You

Forget your favorite pen. Forget your headphones. Forget your snack. No matter how well prepared you are, you will finally pick a secluded spot in the local library or park, and realize you have forgotten something essential. Try to write anyway. Now, you may only work until you get too hungry to go on. You may have to sit there in silence without your headphones and listen to idle chatter or the clacking of keys. Working on a fantasy world for which you have a notebook full of notes on cultures and magic systems and kings? Forget it. You will kick yourself once you get there, but ultimately this is just an exercise in movement. It sounds like a nightmare to some, but if this happens to you, embrace it. Wasting time berating yourself internally for forgetting something is time not used to soak in your new setting, to find the right words to eloquently record idle thoughts. 

Only Write for About Half the Time You Are There

What is the point of going to sit and write in the park if all you do is sit with your eyes glued to the page? It is okay if on your hour lunch break you go sit outside and don’t even write until the 45 minute mark. You came. You saw. Hopefully you have soaked in the day unfolding around you. Even if all you get are a few words describing the nature of the clouds or the dull roar of traffic, I promise this is good for your writing. This is when writing is also meditation. I am a slave to my calendar and often berate myself for the 20 minutes of wasted time just acclimating to a new setting, but it isn’t warranted. I know it can feel like you need to use every second of your free window with the pen to the page, but frankly, most people don’t work that way. Forgive yourself for not being 110 percent productive at all times. Writing is a process and berating yourself for an imperfect one is like shooting yourself in the foot.

Embrace Shitty Weather

I often struggle with an all-or-nothing mindset. I may think about jogging outside, but realize my headphones are dead, my favorite running shorts are in the wash, and the pollen count is so high I will likely return home with a layer of fine nose-itching dust on me. I simply can’t! The conditions aren’t right and the stars aren’t aligned. I do the same for writing. I could sit on my front steps and take in the sound of birds as I try to write, but it is humid out. And it could rain in an hour. And what if my neighbors perceive me? The thought is enough to keep me locked to my chair. But I have tried to challenge these thoughts more often. Is it actively storming? Will the page get washed away? Will I get sick? If the answer is no, then I may as well do it. Waiting for the perfect sunny day with a cool breeze to come along so you can write means you will likely only write two days per year, at least if you live in Maryland.

“Waiting for the perfect sunny day with a cool breeze to come along so you can write means you will likely only write two days per year, at least if you live in Maryland.”

In the end, if you want to change things up; do it. The idea of being a writer and acting like one can sometimes overshadow and separate us from the act of writing itself. Use your ability to move, even if it is just to your car in the parking lot or the front stoop. Our writing practice should be just that; a practice of writing. Not a series of hoops that you need to hop through just to let the thoughts flow. These imperfect trips have resulted in writing sessions that are wild and messy, but rewarding.