Hey Ronald!
I start this “Getting to know each other” by showing you my writing spaces. First thing you need to know: I move. A lot. Last year I finished my BA in Creative Writing – and left my home in Hildesheim, left my constant writing space, lost this perfect view:
Since then I´m always on the go. I was trying to save some writing time (and money!) by applying for residence scholarships in order to finish my first novel. Here´s a stream of my last year’s working spaces, each linked to googlemaps:
I got used to this shifting very soon. I realised that the permanence of place is not important for my work. The permanence of writing itself is much more relevant, to have six hours a day at least to put my words on paper. Luckily I do not need a lot of stuff. Offer me a table and a chair and I’ll be fine. How about you? How does your writing space look like? What kind of permanence do you need?
Right now I’m back in Worpswede, back to my residence scholarship on the countryside, a 30 minute car drive away from Bremen. It’s kind of boring to be honest. But it’s the perfect place to put some words on paper. Oh – and I got my view again!
To start off, let me just express my delight to participate in this project and tag it with a welcoming enthusiasm to read and hear from all of you.
I would also like to thank you for sharing with us images of your writing spaces albeit their inevitable link to the privacy (and intimacy, for that matter) of writing itself.
I must admit I viewed Nikolas’ pictures quite quickly at first (with the brevity of registering only a few empty rooms). Yet, I returned to them this morning (I would like to think that it was not because of mere curiosity but rather due to a process of reflection which happened overnight).
The first thing which surfaces in my mind now (in a more attentive second review) is that apart from the first and last one (which relate to each other on their own terms), all other images have something in common: spaciousness, openness, exits (accomplished through the presence of those large windows). This said, I would like to pose my question with regard to both private and public positioning (and what this would mean for the process of writing), namely: do you need a certain neutrality (a way out in the vein of Goethe’s If I knew myself, I’d run away’) in order to extract yourself from the place and its multiple meanings (and stories). Do you escape the claustrophobia of familiarity through this ‘moving a lot’ and the openness of your choice of writing places? What is (and what is not) in these pictures that we fail to see?
Hey Mariya,
thank you so much for your comment. I like the idea of needing spaciousness in order to run away from the “claustrophobia of familiarity” – I think in my case thats just true. My writing (and living) room back in Hildesheim was very open too. White walls, a writing desk, a mattress, basically. So in way I was looking for this “moving a lot” environment even though I wasn’t on the move. It’s like you say: The lack of familiarity, the lack of stories around me helps me to create stories. For the same reason I prefer morning hours to write – since the day isn’t full of stories yet. I don’t know about Ronald. Maybe I’m just the type of writer for whom “moving a lot” just works out fine. Tomorrow Deborah Asiimwe will talk about “Writing in changing places” – I have the feeling she will be on my side. But there are other writers, other needs and writing places. There is a Tumblr Blog: http://writersatwork.pfauth.com/ It shows the diversity in this case and – more interesting to me – that the question of working space, equipment and ritual for writing stories already tells a story on it’s own.
How do you work? Which one of the writersatwork spaces looks closest to your own?
Good and inspiring morning, Nikolas. Thank you for your response and the website suggestion. If I would have to choose an image from the writersatwork platform to correspond to my personal writing retreat, it would be a blend between Sartre’s and Warren’s representations. Firstly, because my cats oversee all written work and secondly, because the latter is done in great chaos and flying papers. As for the stimuli of the place itself, I have to admit that they are never connected to the way my surrounding looks; rather to the way it ‘sounds’. In this regard, I do not need the windows for any other purpose but for the sound of rain drops breaking onto them (a moment abundant in Bremen) and if I do open them it is for the distant bark of stray dogs (when I am back in Sofia). If the place is asleep I fill my acoustic needs with experimental music but would always prefer the natural soundtracks (if they come with thunder all the better).
I am looking forward to your and Deborah Asiimwe’s comments and would like to hear your thoughts on what does the story of a place ‘say’ about the writer and their writing.
6 hours a day! you’re so committed. I write now much more than I did before I had children. Ironically, my novel is almost complete and I have completed many more writing projects than I ever did. Children make me more aware of time and I am able to structure my days better. I like that the permanence of your work is more important than permanence of space. I can’t remember when I was last in a room alone to write. Sigh…Smile
But it’s a good thing to be more aware of your writing time. You really have to work hard sometimes to stay focused and organized when there is a whole day to write. But that’s a luxury problem, maybe. I’m wondering how my writing will chance when kids are coming. Hopefully I can be as productive as you.
Hey Nikolas,
one of the pictures looks like it was taken in the café of the Schauburg in Bremen. Looks like a good place for writing. I more or less inhabit the “Lift” in the Weberstraße right now. It’s a bit dark, but the espresso is good and I need a lot of caffeine to keep my brain working. Another point is: I have problems writing at home (in my own room). More often than not I need a separate writing space and right now a public one works out for me. You wrote: “I realised that the permanence of place is not important for my work.” But do the places you inhabit change the texts you write? Do you have the feeling, that you write differently in Worpswede than in Bremen oder Hildesheim?
Hey Phillip,
no, not at all! I remember writing in Lauenburg last year, a writers residence with a window outside to the Elbe. People asked me whether I will write poetry about the river now. I think, this could never happen to me. Subconsciously maybe there is stuff going on. But I’m to much into the world of my writing project, with it’s own terms and rules.
In Berlin I often used to rotate. Writing at home in the morning, writing in a bar or café in the evening. I liked the feeling of getting some work done in the morning, knowing: Tonight you will write again. Just with a beer on table instead of an espresso, while the night life around you is about to start. It felt positive to me, I was looking forward to each and every session. And back then it also “changed” my writing. In the morning hours I was more critical, in the evening hours I pushed words forward. To again revise everything in the morning.
Sometimes I would love to go back to this. But Worpswede is not Berlin. It would be a total different thing.
What’s the problem in writing at home for you?
And yes, it actually is the Schauburg! You can click on the photo. I would love to write at Lift one day but I do not want to steal your table. Writers can be very proprietary when it comes to their writing places.
Good question. I guess it has to do with the point, that I regard writing as work. And I want to separate the process from my home. I don’t generally work “outside” but at the moment I prefer to do so. So at home is where I get my ideas and take notes, but I try to write it down somewhere else. But maybe this will change somewhen. By the way: Your writing schedule in Berlin sounds good. I need to try this out sometime. And don’t hesitate to come to Lift. There’s enough tables for everyone.