I have a desk. It’s that flat space where I stack things so tall that the piles wobble and slide into one another. Every so often I clear a space and try to re-establish my authority, but it never works for long. The papers multiply when my back is turned. They clamor for attention. I don’t get much writing done there.
I write wherever I am comfortable. In the overstuffed green chair that’s sprung a leak. On the gray couch, opposite the dog. Sometimes in bed, but that is dangerous. Most often I clear the kitchen table of crumbs and write there. Or I go for a drive and find a spot on the side of the road and write in the cab of my truck. If it’s cold I write in the sun, and follow it around the house. If it’s hot I sweat under the fan. When I get stuck with a story I get up and walk the dog around the block. When we come back we switch places on the couch and I write some more. Sometimes he naps. Sometimes I nap. Or I go into the kitchen to get something to eat. He watches me so I have to share it. Then I write some more.Summer Wood is the author of the novels Raising Wrecker (Bloomsbury) and Arroyo (Chronicle Books), and teaches writing at the University of New Mexico’s Taos Summer Writers’ Conference. She is a graduate of the Creative Writing Workshop at the University of New Orleans.