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The mobile working movement is alive and well, teeming with Bedouin-like workers who travel in single caravans (or sometimes ad-hoc nomadic tribes) from cafe to cafe carrying only cell phones and laptops, sated by comfy chairs, strong WiFi signals, and an endless stream of caffeine. Cafe writing, or the art of writing outside your home in a place devoid of things you obviously should be doing instead, can lead to good creative outflow. It can also lead to an extra 10 pounds in short order, but that relates to one’s inability to ignore the siren’s call of those nutritionally bankrupt, but incredibly tasty goodies that such places offer. Just remember that double chocolate muffin is harmless until you let it in. While resistance may be futile for an enemy of the Borg, it’s definitely critical for a Bedouinish writer.

I mention this now because NaNoWriMo is appearing like a distant mirage on the horizon, tempting us with shimmering promises of discovery. Last year I planned to start with a solid outline, but didn’t quite complete that effort, thus falling short of the challenge’s 50,000 words. This year I STILL plan to start flush with outline, AND I’m considering crafting (ha…) all 50,000 words the Bedouin Way. Why? Because I love the smell of fresh muffins in the morning? Or I enjoy torturing myself with plain coffee while the tart sitting next to me enjoys a fusion of coffee, fruit, and cream that equals my target calorie input for the ENTIRE DAY? Or is it because I’m basically masochistic when it comes to writing and I enjoy putting obstacles in the way of success? Even though the latter rings truest of all, going Bedouin is simply intriguing because it’s a gimmick, and in the midst of a NaNo writing crisis, a gimmick can mean the difference between a thousand and three thousand words…quality be damned, of course.

Continue reading “The Bedouin Way” »

Words, like birds, seem to float just out of reach on currents that move unseen. And the muse, as fickle an entity as history provides, is like clouds that shift and change, forming shapes at times but inherently unpredictable. Yet somehow, when muse and words come together, something good happens.

Writing is a solitary task, which means we tend to suffer in silence and celebrate in a void. My better writing usually appears unannounced, at least not in any predictable sense. When in periods of constant writing, there always seems to be an improvement. “To write” implies constancy of habit, and to improve one’s writing requires a permanence of that habit. Although habit does not guarantee quality, it tends to be the most reliable path to get there.

Continue reading “Nomadic Writer” »