I am broadly intolerant of advice which aims at the best practice of creativity. By this I mean what to write. There’s how to write, and that’s interesting. That can be approached through things to avoid, but I’d say the place to start would be your workspace.
A simple thing, but you may find that whatever you are creating is driving its roots down into wherever you are creating. Workspace informs headspace, so mind where you are starting. Set it out deliberately. Respect it — but only in the manner of self-respect, because it is for you. Not for whoever you’re writing for, not for anyone who might see it. Ensure that you can rely on it remaining broadly unchanged when you come to it and available when you are.
Whatever you do when you sit there, in time your mind will wander. You will have things to do that call you away. You will forget your stream of thought. Your ideas will fragment and fray. Regardless of quality, any if not most will float away. It’s unavoidable. Your brain can’t hold everything always forever — but you can give it a place to let those things roam.
Set up a comfortable, easy workspace, visit it often, settle in, and you will find yourself essentially laying stones around a pond: a free yet contained space in which to let things swim, sink, rise, congeal, and bob about. Where they are at any moment doesn’t matter. All that matters is visiting them, paying attention to their motions, and choosing with care what to lift from the water.
Lay out this space in a way that avoids other headspaces: kitchen tables, TVs, sofas, bathtubs, even irrelevant bookshelves. Afford your space the focus it deserves to accomodate whatever you want do with it. Ensure that nothing hampers it from providing what you need. These are the ergonomic elements of creativity. People don’t write poems about this but I think they should. Submissions on a postcard, please.
What do you need? A comfortable chair — that is, a chair which is supportive and set to the right height. A keyboard that you can hit ten thousand times and not feel it hitting back. A vertical mouse to allow your arm to rest naturally on its edge — look up how your arm bones twist over each other when working a horizontal surface and you will grimace. You need a screen conducive to your chair and to your eye. You need warmth. Don’t set up a desk under a window after autumn and spend all winter confused and depressed about getting nothing done.
Remember that your body is the only thing that can get your ideas out of your brain and onto a page. Pay what it asks or it will close the bridge. Pain will interrupt anything. It’s genetically coded six million years deeper than any desire to write. Regular pain will mount. It will erode your mindset, slow the formation and recall of concepts, and eat your will. Whether in a fine old chair or a beanbag or a hammock, choose something for the long-term.
This will be the first in many rambles on minding how you work as much as what you work on. For now, I’ll draw it in to two key thoughts.
The first: set your creative workspace to serve your most uncreative needs. Quiet, loud, breezy, warm, cool, kettle at hand, lovely view or no visual distractions. Anticipate your distractions and excuses. Plan for their devious strategies.
There comes the second: make it nice, in whatever shape or form. You need to want to go there.
You are a mammal among billions. Everything inside you is carefully developed to make you spend the day lying in the sun. Don’t run from that. Only ensure that wherever such a sunny spot lies for you, that’s where you set up shop.