It seems I am always writing. I have written in doctor offices, hospital rooms, and coffee shops. I have composed pieces during quiet moments while babies napped, while standing in countless lines, waiting for a mechanic to fix my car, sitting with the family watching tv, cooking and eating dinner, and while I listen to blaring music. None of those situations impedes my ability to concentrate or stops me from constructing sentences, forming paragraphs, and searching for unique word combinations. The more distractions, the more I write. My mind focuses, and I block the cacophony.
Reading, however, requires solitude and silence, and binge reading is my secret indulgence. Others might consider a spa day as self-care, but there is nothing I enjoy more than the luxury of reading a book from cover to cover. My idea of a glorious Saturday night is curling into my chair with a book. If I have selected wisely, I turn the pages, blissfully unaware of time passing. Time stretches as the pages turn. My thoughts surge, forming deep whirlpools of unconnected facts, and the well of inspiration fills. The only interruption is the sound of my pen scratching notes in the margins. Tired, inspired, I feel my neurons rewire themselves. In the early Sunday morning quietude, I grab a steaming cup of coffee, and I fill my notebook with ideas.
Does reading fill your creativity tank?
Keep on writing.
Jo Hawk The Writer