K. R. Segriff’s Writing Space

I write where I live, in chaos. I steal small moments of inspiration. There is no time for set-up. The moments are so easily lost. 

I fall on my bed with my laptop and tell myself that if I get up from the one clear space in the room before laying down my idea in its entirety, my only choice will be to start cleaning.

This is how I battle writing anxiety. The worst writing is better than the best floor tidying. Perhaps it is a “write what you know” phenomenon on some deep level because, to me, writing is the act of hacking a barely perceptible path through the jumble of human experience. Or perhaps, as my father used to advise, I should just clean my goddamn room and stop with the bloody excuses.