always write outside? Even when I travel, I search for a place out in the elements where I can plant my tush, open my laptop and write.
Perhaps walls close in my thoughts.
Or the heater or AC turning on sounds too artificial.
Or I don’t like the fake lighting.
Maybe it’s because I got used to writing (or painting) outside when I was a smoker. But that was long ago.
Maybe it’s because, outside, I can sit at a table and throw the ball for my mini-Aussie using a right-handed muscle memory with no thought but for the words I write. So he and I, kill two stones with one bird (yes I meant it that way) – and it makes us both happy as he returns for another 50 throws.
I have one of those propane heaters, kinda like restaurants do. So if it’s above 40 degrees, I’m still good to go.
Because I live in Texas, the temp works with me. Right now, I think it’s around 68.
I like the soft wind, the openness, the expanse and, at least the hope of, the unbound creativity where no walls surround me and world shows up and says,