For me any place can be a good place to write. I love the in between: airports, rock shows, waiting for a bus. There’s something about pausing that makes my brain tingle. I’m always carrying a pen and a little Moleskin notebook, filling it with nearly indecipherable scrawl. The initial rush of inspiration is deliciously intoxicating and figuring out how to capture that early outpouring has been a challenge. There are still boxes of notebooks and cassettes and micro-cassettes stored in boxes, tucked away in closets that I can’t bear to throw away in case some juicy nugget still remains.
Of course I write at home as well though, unlike most of the writers on the blog, there isn’t one specific place. The third floor, with the view of the dilapidated red barn, amidst the strewn instruments is a favorite. The office on the second floor, frequently haunted by our sleeping cat Ida is another. Or in the living room on the orange couch with the plants encroaching. Really anywhere works for me and, for that, I feel amazingly fortunate.
Guy Capecelatro III is a landscaper and songwriter and waiter and poker player and fiction writer and does not enjoy writing about himself in the third person. He puts out way too many albums and recently collected his weekly column into a book entitled Some Women.