writing in place

Oh September, how I adore you!  The light, the ever so slight crispiness in the air, fresh notebook head, and so on.

Today is another meeting of the IWSG - and here from their sign-up page they say it best:

Purpose: To share and encourage. Writers can express doubts and concerns without fear of appearing foolish or weak. Those who have been through the fire can offer assistance and guidance. It’s a safe haven for insecure writers of all kinds!

The optional question this month is - If you could pick one place in the world to sit and write your next story, where would it be and why?

I oft fantasize of the best place to write - that magic place where I will sit down on a cloud of ease and the words  will flow out of my fingers - or better yet, I will merely need to think about the story and there it will be - with no carpal tunnel, no fricked up shoulder (don't get me started - going into the third month of rotator cuff shite), no blockages of either a spiritual or intestinal variety - just easy peasy sailing through the plot - imagine!

But when I get real with myself and think about those places that have worked I know - it wasn't the place. Sometimes it has become even a search in the home I'm currently living in. Should I write in the designated office space or on the dining room table (that's where I am right now). Maybe my shrine room? It's full of good vibes.

I've been writing for a long time, over fifty years, and I've lived or visited so many places in that time. I've gone on some glorious solitary writing retreats. The photo of the typewriter above I took in the childhood home of poet Elizabeth Bishop in Great Village, NS. I got lots of a story written there but no magic. Just bum glue. 

I've gone to friend's cabins in the woods or by the shore. I wrote most of the manuscript I'm currently working on in our little house on the beach in Labrador. I've written plays with fellow writers in scuzzy rooms with too many dirty cups sitting about. 

I wrote well at a group writers' retreat in Newfoundland. 

So my answer to the question today is :

The one place in the world I'd like to sit and write in is where I am. I'd like to write right here in Prospect Bay, Nova Scotia, in the house I share with my fella and the pooch. I'd like to push back the vase full of sunflowers and start in. I'd like to get up and wander into the kitchen and do the dishes when I get stuck. I'd like to share the table (which I will be doing as you read this) with my writing pal, Gwen - as I do every Wednesday. I'd like to remember that showing up for the muse is more likely to bring her along than any other temptation one might offer. Sure I liked working on one manuscript in Cuba - how Hemingway - but did I get lots done? No. I did not. I kept my oar in and that is important, but no place has been any better than another. It is down to me. 

Here's a wee cabin owned by a friend in Labrador. You have to take either a boat or skidoo to get there (depending on the time of year). I did NO WRITING in this place but it would be great. No electricity though. Have to use the quill pen.

How about you? Where would you write? Where DO you write?

PS - I have contracted an editor to work with me on my current story Crooked Knife.  I have a few months to get a proper draft completed. Now that's a great fire under my butt.