I'm a transplant this week. See, I've lived on the East Coast my entire life. But my desk job occasionally sends me to the West Coast for work. Such as this week. I'm in southern California, enjoyed the beautiful weather (when I get to see it). But it also means hotel living. Don't get me wrong, the hotel I'm in is gorgeous. The staff is fabulous and the food at the restaurant here is terrific (plus, I get free margaritas--can't be a bad place, right?). But still...it's a hotel. Hotel living is...well, just not the same. I mean, it's not MY bed. It's not MY desk. It's not MY anything. It actually throws off my writing groove a little bit, as I don't tend to write much when I am on a business trip. Oddly enough, if I venture out with laptop in hand and find a cozy cafe to settle down in, I can get some work done.
It might be a bit strange, but do you ever find yourself writing and/or reading in odd places? What are some of them?