Quite honestly, when I first dreamed of being a writer, I imagined a similar scene: a beautiful writing room with an antique typewriter and an oversized mug of tea, sitting at my reclaimed wood desk, surrounded by walls and walls of books with one wall of windows looking out over a lake or an endless forest of fir trees, snow on the ground, wrapped in an oversized shawl, my hair piled on my head, glasses perched on my nose, writing the next great American novel.
So true — we spend so long trying to construct the perfect context to write in, that we forget all it takes to write is just to sit down and write the goddamn thing. There are no ideal circumstances, places or otherwise, that will make our words or paint flow more freely. We just have to be still, push past our egos and our doubts and excuses for not starting and get on with it. I really firmly believe that creativity is 10% talent and 90% showing up.
Excellent article, by the way!