Writing in Paris: Part Quatre

I remember with perfect clarity the very moment I read Virginia Woolf's feminist classic, "A Room of One's Own." I was in my Laura Ashley dream room listening to The Cure. I remember that the advice seemed so important that I copied the following words to my journal in big loopy purple handwriting that still dotted "i's" with hearts : "A woman must have money and a room of her own if she is to write fiction."

When I got married there were things that were negotiable---such as I was willing to have dinner with my in laws as long as I could complain about it for hours afterwards. He could watch Star Trek as long as the rest of the time I had full and absolute sovereignty over the remote. As you can see, what I was really trying to accomplish was gender equity. However, the one thing I was not willing to negotiate on was the room of my own. I had to have one.

I had planned on being a writer like Virginia Woolf, only I would write funny stuff and have better brain chemistry and, thank God, a better nose. I fantasized that once I got the room I would start to write at least eight hours a day. I would then be a real writer. However, once I finally got the room of my own, I found that I spent very little time in it and even less time writing in it. I would use my writer's desk as a makeup and blow drying station. Occasionally my writers chair served as a purgatory for clothes that were not exactly ready for their decent into my hamper and or the ardours elevation to a hanger and closet.

I think sometimes it is the proximity of my writing office to the rest of the house is my albatross. I am often roused to leave my post by the siren song of the refrigerator. Or, I am annoyed by the sounds of "others" watching TV and feel compelled to come and see what it is they are watching. I reluctantly find myself sitting on the sofa engrossed against my own will and better judgment by "The Deadliest Catch" and proceed to try to analyze what it is exactly that my husband finds so entertaining about crab fisherman.

Maybe I need a room of my own outside of my home. Michael Pollan, author of the great book, "The Omnivore's Dilema," also wrote a book called "A Place of My Own: The Education of an Amateur Builder." In this book , Pollan documents his process of creating a place of his own in which he can write. A little writer's hut that he built just a few feet from his home. A place where he can sit alone with his brilliant thoughts and effortlessly turn out books that are on the New York Time's Best Seller List for weeks. What I would love to learn is whether this writing Taj Mahal is all that he had hoped it would be. Has creating the perfect writing room made his writing process any more perfect? I am, as ever, dubious.

Eric Maisel, my Paris writing guru, suggests not limiting yourself to a single room and to instead make the world your writing room---at least while in Paris. There are many suggestions in his book, "A Writers Paris: A Guided Journey For The Creative Soul," of great places to write while in Paris. It is the café that is the absolute and archetypal writing place in all of Paris. However, like Maisel's point that you need to be writing in Pittsburgh before you go and try to write in Paris, he also suggests that you practice your writing in public before you make the big trip to France and find you have not learned how not to be overwhelmed with ADHD symptoms when sitting in le café.

I am trying to develop my writing in public skills. As a matter of fact, the bulk of this post was written in a Thai restaurant as I attempted to eat a bowl of Tom Yum Goong soup and not get any in my hair as I bent over to slurp it up. While I wrote and ate and avoided soupy hair, I inadvertently overheard two girls trash-talking a co-worker. And, there were a table filled with four mid-life crises and their secretary. Each guy attempted to demonstrate his sizable masculinity by outdoing each other on how hot and spicy they ordered their food. In the background I heard a conversation of two Thai workers that's content was obscured by my inability to speak their language.

I find writing at home difficult. There are so many things I could do instead. I find writing out in the world difficult. I am so easily distracted. I guess, the truth of it is....I find writing difficult. I am going to continue to practice my extroverted writing exercises. You may see me in your local Starbucks, I will be the one with the laptop, the vente whole milk latte and a look of creative block and introverted overwhelm. However, the more I practice the café writing exercise the easier it will get. Soon, I will be able to write in le café in Paris and maybe even in the room of my own.

To be continued.