A struggling writer

Trying to get some work done in Düsseldorf, but my computer just wanted to update itself. 

I have to write. I have so many things to write about, that I can picture myself doing this until the end of times; non stop. 

Don’t get me wrong, I can write super fast. I have this gift of flow when I write. Words just pop out of my head very easily. The problem for me is to find the moment to let all of this happen. And for moment I mean a place. 

Let me tell you something: I can not write in any circumstance. I need a few things to help me. I need a table, a chair, I used to need a mouse, but know I can deal with the one integrated on the laptop. It can not be too hot, so I’m already picturing myself spending a month in the Colombian Caribbean, again, not being able to get anything done except for going to the beach and read tons of books (still a great life). 

The type of food that I like to eat while working:
home made chilean completos (hot dogs).
I have this romantic idea of the perfect setting for writing: a cool European coffee shop like in the movies. Although I’m not a huge coffee drinker, but I can get some tea or some juice. And I can sit facing the street and watch the people walk around and wonder what are they thinking about, what is happening in their heads; do they have something important to do today?, are they in love?... And if a handsome guy is passing by: will you marry me?  

Yes!, I can totally see myself writing there. But, what do I do when I want to go to the bathroom? Do I just leave my things on the table? And if I get hungry it’s probably not polite to get a cheap snack out of my backpack and start eating It like the pig that I am, considering all the delicious 4 euro brownies that they have displayed for the users and abusers of their wifi to buy with actual money that I don’t have. I really don’t. 

Park is out of the game. Maybe for reading. Libraries are too quite. I need the noise. 

So this is my approach to the writing process in terms of my surroundings. A cool place to be, with the perfect temperature and the possibility to go the bathroom freely and to eat whatever I want. That’s why I miss my office so much right now. My huge desk, where so many amazing ideas (like traveling the world on a tiny budget) started to get real. My fast wifi (that I learned to value while traveling in Central America). My cat, sleeping on my legs while I created all of this that I call my current life.

I’m jealous of those writers that post magical pictures from immaculate co-working spaces or super trendy organic cafés (yes, “cafés” in Spanish) that can get so much work done while enjoying a smoothie made with the most virgin fruits in the universe and the tears of sacred cows from India; wearing ASOS white t-shirts with subliminal messages about life or some sarcastic take on love, freedom and feminism; after attending the workshop “How to be the perfect digital nomad” giving by a superstar young blogger with tons of readers and hardly old enough to be allowed to get a proper drink on a proper bar. 

Me? I’m stuck in the same shorts that I have wore over a week, made from a pair of jeans that were not even old but new (I just needed fresh clothes so I cut them), in a tiny smelly room inside a beautiful, but even smellier apartment not even close to downtown Madrid; sweating my ass off (literally, my ass is sweating because it’s too hot, it’s not a metaphor for work) waiting for my renter in Chile to transfer the money of this month so I can pay for this room and get my friends back all the money that they borrowed me this August because I just went crazy with my expenses inviting my sister to join me for two weeks in Europe. And I’m not even sure whether It was worthy or not. Material for another story.

Right now I just have to write in this conditions. And I have to do a good job. And in some twisted way I love It. I just love every bit of It. I guess the fantasy of the struggling writer is more appealing to me than a fresh warm overpriced chocolate brownie. Wait... 

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