Where do you write?

In bed. Apparently, it's a bad habit to mix working and sleeping spaces, but it's never caused a problem so far. And the bed is comfortable. I would write at my desk, but am always conscious of the door behind me - anybody could walk in and read over my shoulder...

At a desk with a computer surrounded by piles of notes.

I write in bed, on the couch, at my desk, at the library, on the plane... I suppose I should probably be more consistent/disciplined about it. But I need variety--so long as I've got my music.

I do, however, save the reading aloud bit for when I'm home alone.

I write many places, my favorite is in the family room. Kids playing around me (interacting with me at times). I also write on my front porch, in the car while my husband is driving, and in my home office.

At my computer desk in what I call my music room. Walls covered with photos and plaques, one wall a solid bookshelf and a bookshelf aisle in the middle of the room. Next to the computer is a large cabinet full of record albums. A guitar amp sits next to my chair too. Typical messy environment.

I wrote my first MS in the middle of my bedroom. That was the only way to fit the computer desk in there.

Now I'm in a new house with more furniture, so the computer is in the study, which is where I'm now sitting and procrastinating writing. The good thing about having it in my bedroom was that I didn't have internet access on that computer.

Now we have wireless, so any computer in the house offers up the internet.

In the study with me is a bookcase and loads of crap waiting to find a new home in our new home. I can't really write pen-to-paper, except for planning the books, so I don't do much else outside of the study.

I want to take my laptop to a coffee shop and try writing there, but I keep putting it off. Just seems like overkilling an idea to go out of my way to get a laptop to a coffee shop so that I can write for half an hour and then walk out feeling like everyone's staring at me for taking so long to drink a cup of coffee.

If I ever flew, I'd write on the plane.

The basement, in the recliner, with the laptop.

Or is it Miss Scarlett, in the study, with the candlestick?

Mornings (starting 6-7AM) in the office of my day job. I am by far the first in, which allows me:
1) To put in a few hours into the current manuscript
2) Take the best spot on the parking lot AND practice rear parking
3) Have some tea without waiting in line
It's dark and quiet and I can see cloudy mountains in the window. I feel like a criminal by the time the front door slams and someone turns on the lights.

I currently set my laptop up on the dining table to write. However, I'm in the process of setting up my writing/reading room. The room is empty besides two bookcases. Once a desk is added I'll add a writing-only computer so I don't have to deal with the laptop anymore.

I don't really have a specific place I write.
As long as it's quiet, I don't mind~

Usually it's my living room, where the news will be on TV for noise. Sometimes I listen to music while I work too X3

In my room with tv off. Maybe some music.

Anywhere I can...in all seriousness, this has changed as the years have passed, but now with a toddler and my full time teaching gig, I have to wedge it in where I can.

Usually I write on my Macbook in my living room sitting in my recliner or on my couch. However, I will occasionally write at school during a free block.

I like to take one day a month and "get out" too. I'll take a sick day from work and sequester myself from the world at Panera's or Barnes and Noble or something like that and write away.

Places I've written in the past:
-Hotel rooms (on vacation and on business trips)
-Airports (see above)
-A graduation party (worked through a difficult sticking point once at a cousin's party on the back of a menu)
-On the way to a football game I was coaching

And now with my new Blackberry with MS Word installed on it, who knows!

I started writing in bed when I got in the habit of putting an hour in before I leave for work. It's great - I have a coffee maker with a timer so it's ready when I wake up, then I get to go back to bed. It's like having a lie in, but productive, and with coffee. It's now got to the point where I sit on the bed to write in the evenings as well. When I'm at the b/f's I sit on his sofa and write. Lunchtimes I write in the library of the place where I work. Sometimes I write on the train on my way to work; but in bed's nicest.

Personally I hate writing in bed, screws up my back. I keep going back and forth on getting a laptop. Right now, a pad of paper is much cheaper.

I usually curl up on this big yellow chair in the living room with my laptop to write, or I'll take a notebook outside and climb a tree or head down into our woods. VERY occasionally, I'll take a trip to the bridge by the lake, but I usually find the stench of dead animals distracts me unless I'm writing something gory.

I usually write on my computer in the living room, usually in the evening after work. My biggest problem is actually finding time to do it.

I write where ever I can. I would love to have quiet but with three kids (one of them a toddler) a husband, the sound of Toy Story playing for the umpteenth time, the dogs and what not, I have learned to write in the midst of chaos.

I write first drafts longhand, wherever I happen to be. Airports, planes, hotels, coffee shops, waiting rooms, etc. Mostly just the coffee shop or the couch.

If I'm editing, I'm plopped in front of my laptop on the couch or at a table, but only because my battery lasts roughly 10 minutes before shutting me down.

I used to write in my own apartment, in the living room. It was empty and quiet, unless my girlfriend was there. She didn't like me writing when she was there, because I would spend less time with her. She is very much still like that.

But now, I have a job that has varying hours (some days I work 5:30 am and others I start at 8:30 pm). I also moved back in with my father. Unfortunately, him and I rarely get along, often due to him being drunk. I am using his computer and he dislike me saving or downloading anything onto his computer. Even so, I have plenty of projects saved to the desktop. I write much less. I pay him rent, a very good portion of my paycheck, and rarely have time to write because my girlfriend is usually with me the time I wake up to when I should head to bed.

I love being with her and I do understand that my work schedule means we may not see each other for more than an hour a day, but I have been entirely unable to write. If she is away for whatever reason and I do try to write, my father never leaves me alone long enough for me to ask, "Where was I going with the last sentence of this novel, anyway?"

So, all in all for the past year, I've written maybe 12,000 words. I wrote many poems, though. Once in a great while I write at work, but I find it a chore to write in on my breaks on paper and then rewrite it onto a word document (mostly because my handwriting is ATROCIOUS).

I have to write my first draft on paper. I write when the baby is sleeping, where doesn't bother me, but it should be quiet.
Re-writes need to be done at the computer (which is in the dinning room) with music. It works best if I listen to instrumentals or else I end up doing more singing than writing.

at the coffee shop. With headphones on. Loud music, people watching, beer, wine, coffee, chocolate, and the laptop.

I have a cave I go to.

To reach it, however, one must first pass a gate. It stands, heavy and brooding, across the path to this cave, blocking the way to those who do not hold the key. The gate is a solid, twisted thing, made not of iron or wood, but of the blackest despair - stronger than steel and terrible as defeat.

The lock that opens it is a gleaming alloy of hope and vision that attracts the eye and beguiles the mind. But it can only be opened by one key and one key only: the elusive Key of Confidence.

Beyond this gate lies a long and winding path that hugs the cliffside like a frightened lover, inching upward into the misty heights. On the left looms a wide chasm, deep and dark as doubt. And just as compelling. It calls hungrily to the unwary traveler.

The path creeps upward, narrow and cracked, and littered with the bones of the faithless and weak of heart. As you go higher, great winds of indecision howl their laughter and buffet you about, threatening to hurl you down. The stinging sands of other demands pepper your face and blind your eyes. Sometimes, if one is not careful, you can hear the voices of those long-gone in those winds, urging you to turn back, to give up.

This is the point where many are lost.

Further upward, years of time and procrastination have weakened and muddied the path. The footing becomes trickier and the ground shifts beneath you. Each step is mired in the muck of your own making. Every step is heavy.

Yet still you must plod on.

For if you are able to make it past that, you will eventually top a rise and see a gnarled, wind-bitten tree with branches splayed as if beseeching the Gods. Carved upon its trunk you’ll discover the names of some Great Authors who preceded you. Some you might know. Some you might not.

From there you should see a cave mouth, wide and open in the unyielding granite, and from within should emit the warm glow of your story. It calls and beckons to you, like home.

I love it when I make it there.

Wherever, and whenever I have a moment. Usually ends up during lunch at my desk on my laptop at work, on the BART, and during breaks.

In church while le preacher is le preaching.

I think I posted this in another thread. Um, but here we are. If you look closely you will see one of Shweta's poems, a beer fridge, and why yes of course that's a real dragon skull.

And yes I work best in chaos ( to be fair at least half the paper is my husband dumping his accounts on there because he's filled up his desk. Grrr)

But I do have nice piccies of Ma Heroes.