I came across this text in an essay in a book, and wanted to share it with you.  Happy Monday.

Writing in public places – Bonnie Morris

When the journal-writing habit seizes you and sets you on its path, you will need certain things for the rest of your life, whether you use an oak-paneled study, your mother’s kitchen, or a rickety jungle tree house as your writing nook.  You will need:

Pens for every coat and knapsack and handbag that you own.  A chauvinistic loyalty to your brand of instrument: Bic, Biro, Cross, Waterman, Scheaffer; felt-tip, roller ball, fountain, fine-point, crayon.  And a mechanical pencil, too, for the creative engineers among you.

Ink.  Choose colors that won’t fade; this is your stab at immortality, if you can handle the thought of great-grandchildren or grad students reading your account of certain nude pool parties or that first mammogram/prostate exam.

Real paper, creamy, heavyweight, spiral – later, if you wish, you may certainly transfer journal entries to a cold and blinking screen.  But the paper in your lap permits your moving hand to caress both pen and surface, a workmanship format centuries old, irreplaceably intimate.  Know your own handwriting.  Whose g is that?  Your father’s?  Or lifted from that kid you admired in youth group?

A writing place and time, a favorite nook or bench, a willingness to create writing space in chaos, solitude in crowds – the ability to write in jail, on subways, during revolutions, at rock concerts, in bed.

If you like, a tape recorder and a camera rounding out the sounds and sights, interviews and images that collectively inspire you to capture or describe your life.

Most important of all – you will need the ability to survive, as a writer, through the unforeseen and difficult times without any of the luxuries just described.