And so it was born

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

From an old ragged armchair that sits beside my living-room window, as the sun beams sneaks a peak through my blinds and I’m drinking my coffee or tea, that’s when I begin writing. Much of the time I’m laughing too hard because I’m watching my cat being agitated as he sits in the window watching the swallows playing on my front porch. I laugh even harder because these little birds start to tease my cat, I can tell he’s getting frustrated by the swish movements of his tail.

Most of the time this is where creation begins, it’s quite uncomfortable, I have to use numerous pillows to support my back as I try to ease the chronic pain that plagues my entire body. I seem to become attach to this chair, not Archie Bunker attached, I will throw this chair out in a heartbeat once I get the money to purchase a new one, but this chair represents my comfort zone, a place where I can relax and ideas are formed, then sometime I get too comfortable and fall asleep. Ideas do come to me, sometimes, during my nap time or dreaming.

Then once I awake from my nap and attempt to stretch myself from the  additional pain of that awkward napping position, I get to work again from my old ragged armchair to which I have grown a slight attachment.

 

This post is in response to a writing prompt: Where do you produce your best writing — at your desk, on your phone, at a noisy café? Tell us how the environment affects your creativity? Where do you produce your best writing — at your desk, on your phone, at a noisy café? Tell us how the environment affects your creativity.

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