I mention this now because NaNoWriMo is appearing like a distant mirage on the horizon, tempting us with shimmering promises of discovery. Last year I planned to start with a solid outline, but didn’t quite complete that effort, thus falling short of the challenge’s 50,000 words. This year I STILL plan to start flush with outline, AND I’m considering crafting (ha…) all 50,000 words the Bedouin Way. Why? Because I love the smell of fresh muffins in the morning? Or I enjoy torturing myself with plain coffee while the tart sitting next to me enjoys a fusion of coffee, fruit, and cream that equals my target calorie input for the ENTIRE DAY? Or is it because I’m basically masochistic when it comes to writing and I enjoy putting obstacles in the way of success? Even though the latter rings truest of all, going Bedouin is simply intriguing because it’s a gimmick, and in the midst of a NaNo writing crisis, a gimmick can mean the difference between a thousand and three thousand words…quality be damned, of course.

Stay tuned to discover if I am a successfully nomadic on my 50,000-word cafe pursuit. And while you’re waiting, check out what NaNoWriMo is all about and join the pain, er…fun. Really. It’s only painful if you read your NaNo novel a month later, or worse:  let family and friends read your “effort.” You can’t get any more masochistic than that, no matter how ill-tempered that camel you ride from cafe to cafe.

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Writing is a solitary task, which means we tend to suffer in silence and celebrate in a void. My better writing usually appears unannounced, at least not in any predictable sense. When in periods of constant writing, there always seems to be an improvement. “To write” implies constancy of habit, and to improve one’s writing requires a permanence of that habit. Although habit does not guarantee quality, it tends to be the most reliable path to get there.

I am not the best judge of when my writing is good and when it is…well, less than good. Sure, I can see the distinction in a somewhat broad sense, but when someone says, “that’s good,” my response is usually, “really?” Then there are those ego-boosting moments when I think I have written something above the usual and the compliments come as frequently as winning Lotto tickets.

One could argue that whether the writing is good or bad matters little, and for the most part that is a verity all writers, amateur and pros alike, should embrace. After all, if the drive is there to write, most likely it is for reasons other than fame or fortune, for what sensible person would ever embark on a writing career thinking “I’m gonna get rich.”

For me, “where” I write is almost as critical as “when” I write. My preference has always been to write in places other than where I live or work, places outside the ordinariness of the ultra-familiar. I have written about café writing before, and while my habits have not changed drastically since early 2004, I have refined my art of café writing. In the past, I would seek out a spot that mostly offered sitting comfort. Now I embrace a Feng Shui approach that goes beyond simple comfort, and I can sense when a spot feels right and when it does not. In the photo at right, you can see how I camped in a corner on a recent trek to Panera’s. You’ll notice my back was to the wall, so bad writing could not easily sneak up unnoticed, and by a window so I could clearly see it if it slipped in! Oh, if it were only that easy…

The other refinement is I now tend to invoke the white-cable-ear ritual when the place is noisy (and they are mostly ALL noisy). I used to think that café noises blended into a macabre white noise, with little real distraction. Add an increase in rude cell phone users over the years, chattier teenagers (or have I just aged a bit?), and the newest rage: satellite radio feeds, and I prefer to generate my own white noise. I can and do write in noisy places at times sans the white cables, but my iPod is quickly becoming as indispensable as my Moleskines.

Ultimately, I am no surer of why I prefer writing in a nomadic way than back in 2004. It just is. If I have work-related writing, I can be productive at home. For blogging and other non-work writing projects, however, I prefer to hit the road, find a café or bookstore, plug in, tune out, and write, write, write. The one remaining problem with café writing is, of course, pastries. While the old cliché says that an army travels on its stomach, there is no truth to the rumor that a writer fuels each chapter with German Chocolate Danish. At least, my waistline hopes not.

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