“I’ve had numerous writing rituals over the years. They’ve tended to change as my life circumstances have changed, but they always revolve around two key ingredients: silence and geography. I cannot hear my own voice when my mind is cluttered, and what constitutes clutter could fill a small book. It includes, at its most basic, people, dogs, telephones, televisions, construction equipment, sirens, and the Internet (by which I mean the whole mind-numbing-soul-sucking-time-wasting thing). I’ve also learned that I have a much easier time dropping into that quiet place when I am in certain specific locations or doing certain things. When I’m writing poetry, and the weather permits, my preferred spot is my front stoop, where I can stare off into the middle distance to my heart’s content, risking only the occasional questioning stare of a mystified neighbor. When writing fiction, or forced inside by the elements, I often start my day by re-reading what I’ve written the day before, then closing my eyes and drifting into that limbo between sleep and wakefulness. Other generally foolproof kick-starters: long drives and long showers—neither of which is good for the environment but both of which have paid for themselves in killer first lines.”
—Kim Triedman, author of The Other Room (Owl Canyon Press, 2013)