I Can't Write Away From Home

I'm back home after spending most of April out of town. I made three separate trips. On the first trip I did what I usually do and brought writing stuff with me. I left my computer at home but I brought along a three inch binder that holds the draft of the big thing I'm working on, imaging I would use the four hour plane ride to get some good editing done. Right.

I can't count the number of times I've done something like that. And I never manage to get any good writing done. Even when I went to Norway three years ago and did nothing but watch beautiful scenery go by I couldn't get myself to do any writing. I reread Absalom, Absalom instead.

The most I can expect of myself is to make a few notes to use at another time, take photos of interesting buildings (see earlier post), and keep up with my journal.

I do well on writing retreats -- like the one I have coming up next week -- when the entire purpose of being away from home is to write. But other than that, I guess I'm overwhelmed by taking in images and ideas. Maybe I'll make use of all of that another time for my writing. At least that's what I tell myself.

Being on the road so much has made my resolution of reading less unattainable. I read on planes, I read waiting for planes, I read waiting for my travel companions to get ready in the morning. I'm back up to my normal ten books a month pace and I have an enormous stack of things I want to read. I'm taking an advanced memoir workshop and each time I go to class I emerge with a long list of more books I want to read. But I guess there are worse vices.