Lately, I've been doing most of my writing at the gym.
This does not seem like the most conducive environment for creative output. It's noisy, it's crowded, and generally I'm too busy trying to catch my breath or trying not to drop weights on my forehead, chest, or feet. I keep a little notebook with me while I'm working out, and I track how many sets of which exercises I've finished. If I didn't do this, I would likely forget what I've finished so far and end up repeating myself or skipping parts of my routine, because I'm usually not doing much thinking at the gym, especially since I'm most often at the gym by six in the morning, before I've had any coffee and before I've been able to talk myself out of going.
However, I think that's why ideas to write about have been occurring to me at the gym lately. I'm not very awake, so the mental filters are not yet fully engaged. My body is otherwise occupied with things that don't require my mind to be present beyond counting repetitions. And I also have that little notebook nearby, and flipping 3-by-5-inch pages one after the other as I fill them up with words is supremely satisfying.
So the routine has become: one set, one minute writing break, then the next set. Something about stepping away from the desk but bringing the writing with me has made me realize that regardless of where I am, even if I don't have any paper in front of me, I'm doing some sort of writing.
Another place that I've been doing more writing recently is bed. This past Friday, I woke up at five and decided to sleep in. I lay awake until five-thirty, then finally gave in and turned on the light. I grabbed my notebook and pen and started writing. By the time the alarm went off at six, I had the beginning of a new story.
Tomorrow, I'm thinking I might branch out. If I take my notebook to the art museum, or maybe the train station, I wonder what will occur to me then.