As the first day of the 30-Day Blog Challenge, I am supposed to answer the following question: what do I write, why, and where?

Now, obviously I write blog posts about whatever is crossing my mind or affecting my life or that I’m rediscovering in the world around me. However, that is not all that I write. I also write poems, short stories, I’m working on a novel like most people are, and I freewrite. I freewrite a lot more than all the other things that I write.

Freewriting, for me, is a chance to get the crowds of thoughts in my head to thin out a bit. Often I’ll start writing about something that has just been consuming my thoughts, and by the end of the freewrite I will have a solution to the problem or have it completely drained from my concerns. Either way, it is a great relief and very therapeutic or cathartic to just word vomit my thoughts onto a page. Now, whenever someone tells me that they can’t think for all the thoughts in their head or because something is weighing too heavily on their mind, I always suggest freewriting.

Where I write doesn’t really matter to me anymore. It did when I was younger: I couldn’t write unless I was completely alone, in a quiet space with nothing to interrupt the solitude except occasional birdsong or other nature noises (and no, I’m not exaggerating). Now, I require nothing so hermetic.

I currently write most of my blog posts in one of four places: my place of work (thankfully, my day job doesn’t require me to do much except sit there at the moment, which gives me plenty of time to think through posts), my kitchen table (where there’s FOOD), the local library (I cannot get over the smell of books; it’s the sexiest scent in the world!), or a coffee shop (not any one in particular, you understand, but just coffee shop aesthetics in general are what I seek out).

For places where I do my freewriting, I would add one more top location: my bedroom. Because the need to freewrite tends to strike me wherever and whenever, I actually have stacks of notebooks on my bedside tables, not quite diaries–although they do fill that function, that are ready for the mood to strike me. (Preferred pen of choice: a Sharpie pen. Doesn’t bleed, is smooth thanks to the felt tips, and makes me feel like a bada** writer.)

In conclusion, I’ve found that it doesn’t matter what I write or where I write it. In the end, the very act of writing brings a sense of comfort to me that not much else does.