For a while now, I have been flirting with the idea to make myself get out every day and go to a café to write. From previous experiences, it has always helped me when I was serious about the work I wanted to do and the fact that I needed a distraction-free environment (yes, I mean the internet).
I like being around of people when I work. I like the voices around me that make no sense, the random noise in the café, the music in the background that most times is unbearable, people moving around endlessly. All these create a kind of white noise that helps me focus. It’s enough for me to shut it out, and not enough to distract me.
Staying at home can be monotonous, the bed is calling my name every couple of hours when my back gets tired from all the hours sitting on the chair, and housework like to remind me that I haven’t cooked or cleaned the house so it’s time now, right now, right now that youstartedsothatyoucanwritewithoutdistractionsandguilt. Throw into the mix the hellish heat of August in Greece and bingo.
Less than a week ago I took my laptop and I went to a café close to my home to write. The attempt was deemed successful and I ended up with a finished scene in a full one-hour sprint. Today I decided to repeat the experiment.
Okay, not so utter failure considering I’ve written 250 words and this blog post from said café, but the concentration I was seeking when I came in determined to sit down and finish a couple of scenes never met me. I don’t know if it was lost or something, but I found myself hating the songs I had on my laptop – even the playlist for this particular draft- I couldn’t find the right volume to bury the unknowing music in the background, the tattoo the girl in front of me had on her back was more interesting than my document, and I ended up in Twitter whining about my lack of productivity.
Not even the jump between works and that short story that has me excited the last couple of days didn’t help. In the end, I went back on the book I’m reading allowing myself some time. Maybe it would come.
It came. For the blog post. Not for the draft or the short story. And to be honest, I don’t know if I’m going to make another attempt when I get home.
The thing is though, that despite the painful couple of hours that I couldn’t concentrate on my writing, today’s attempt, as this blog post comes to an end, has to be deemed a success, too.