When I am sitting down to write in creative ways, I find the space I am in to be as important as the subject in which I am writing.
For example, writing in libraries has never really worked for me, as I feel some Godly judgement cast upon me by others in the library, despite the fact that they aren’t even aware of my existence, let alone care.
However, this external pressure means I can focus on nothing else but focussing, and thus end up not writing anything at all.
I have tried writing in The Hideaway within uni thinking maybe this would be a helpful place to be. It is not silent, which means that I don’t think I’m going to be thwarted for existence, and has a good amount of coffee that is nearby – which seems to be a crucial point when I work.
The major downside to The Hideaway, it seems, is the sheer amount of things going on. The bright house lights, the bright colourful lights, the screen that displays the music video of the music being played that is slightly too loud, the consequential shouting as a result of the too loud music.
I often find myself gazing into the blue lights that hang in columns from the ceiling like one would gaze at fish in a tank. Not a single thought passing through my head
For me, I must be in a place that has movement and noise, but not so much that it becomes distracting. There must be some form of overpriced coffee (which I use to bribe my monkey brain into work) and some form of light music being played in the background. I have to be sat next to a window or the lights must be ambient. This particularity means that it consequently means I do very little work.
I jest.
Starbucks, I have found, seems to be the place that fulfils all these factors. The baristas leave you alone, no one will speak to you, there are outlets that allow you to charge your phone when you inevitably forget to charge your laptop the night before. The wifi is reliable, but not so good that you can procrastinate by watching a YouTube video.
I have since discovered that doing work in Starbucks allows for me to build the facade that my life is in fact together. This air of assumed confidence means that I can convince myself that I am Okay at writing, that the last 2,000 words I wrote aren’t utter utter shite and that this is my world that others happen to be living in.
For someone with anxiety, this facade of arrogance means I complete work outside the four walls of my flat without having a panic attack beforehand. The coffee, the music and the overall vibes are perfectly conducive for my work.
Space, it appears, is as important as your writing.