I don’t know why, but I feel like I write better longhand at our local McDonalds. That’s where I’m at now, chomping on my big breakfast and sipping on an endless supply of Coke. I’m told that writing in a noisy, rush hour environment is fairly unusual, but I’ve been married over 40 years and have become adept at tuning out annoying chatter and movement around me.
I’m lost in my own little world.
And I’m actually more comfortable here than in the solitude of my lonely writing nook at home. There, I feel more keyed-up and have to get up and move around, which slows the writing process considerably.
Becky, on the other hand, prefers quiet solitude. Her nimble fingers flash across the keyboard like lightening. She writes so much more efficiently than I. My words dribble from my pen onto a yellow notepad, and then later when I type them, they trickle one letter at a time onto my computer screen.
In spite of our different approaches, when the words, hers and mine, are all put together, they become “ours.” I am as invested in her words as my own, and she is invested in my words as she is her own. They are “our” words, and usually after a short time, we can’t tell who originally wrote which parts.
Her writing process is far different from mine, yet in the finished product, we can’t tell the difference.
So I guess it doesn’t matter how we tickle our muses, what’s important is that we get the words onto paper. And extra large Coke really helps.