As a kid, I carried around one of those portable, plastic file boxes with a handle, the kind that have a few small compartments on top with a clear lid that pops up to allow access to all of the wonderful office supplies concealed inside. Some of the things I had in this box were 3 x 5 cards with story ideas, character descriptions, and plot outlines. I would jot down notes under trees, on rocks, sitting on the stairs, all over the place.
I needed to move around in order to get ideas flowing and to get the gears turning when I had writer’s block… and I still do. There is something about movement; taking a walk, riding a bike, pacing around the office, that just revitalizes the writing juices.
Except for the brief times I had a little apartment in college, I did not have a lot of space to make an office. After university, I moved back in with my parents. Later, I lived six months here, six months there, and eventually bought an old RV. I got a minimalist, bright white desk on clearance at Big Lots and carved out a five-by-two-and-a-half foot office in that unit and I was on cloud nine.
Some time—and a lot of money—later, I sold that RV on as it turned out to be a financial blackhole just to keep everything working, but there are so many more surfaces in this world where I can lay my notebook and laptop. And, really, not including space for a coffee cup, fifteen-by-ten inches is about all I need to write a blog post, short story, or even a full length book. There is a freedom and special inspiration in writing everywhere.
Except for my office supply addiction, the world truly has become my desk, and I don’t even need to carry around a plastic file box to get that next novel written.