Mostly I write lying down, my laptop unfolded, keyboard on my torso, the screen against the cushions that lean against my thighs. My head and neck are supported by a pillow so I can see both keyboard and screen. I’ve haven’t learned touch typing. Yet.
I have a desk—a beautiful, metal, three-tiered, Ikea desk. When I get off the bed to think an idea, or look for one, or because I have glanced up to see there is a sunset that needs attention, or to loosen from the stiffness I’ve accumulated, I move the computer to the desk so that I can scurry there before the idea is lost.
In the summer, at my little cottage, I have a half acre of writing spaces. More, really, because there are 360 directions to face from each space. I don’t write at the beach, because I’m wet, or gazing, but I write of the beach.
Photo by Flickr user Claire McMahon