This one caught my eye. It’s an old question…where do you write?
I handwrite in the journal that lives beside my bed to capture dreams and bits of books and moments of spirit. But when writing it’s on my laptop in some kind of reclined position — not good for my body but needed by my mind. No music, no kitchen clatter, and definitely no conversations; only silence, perhaps pierced from time to time with the raucous cries of gulls. And before this, comes miles of rambling and rumination in my forest by the sea and voices on the wind. Writing does not happen in one single time or space.
