The first book I wrote was done in about two months. I went to the library and spent the equivalent of a part-time job there, turning out scene after scene. Everyday I would be there at 9AM sharp as the doors opened and by 2PM I would wrap up, grab some lunch and head home.

Last year, I had a similar routine. I’d show up at the library as it opened and stay until 1 or 2 then head off to work. I wrote two and a half books—sometimes you hear me whine about it. ^_~ Even though I’m not going to publish those books, I damn well wrote them.

So what happened between that time, other than a short story? I let life get in the way of writing. OK, that’s a bit harsh, but I didn’t stick to my writing routine or adjust it as the real world encroached on my previous routine.

So what was so special about that routine that proved so much writing?

I always knew that at a certain time and place I would be writing. After a short while just being at the place at that time acted like a word siphon. If it was 9AM I was supposed to be at the library and I was supposed to be writing.

But why the library? Was I trying to use osmosis? I hope not because that only works if me and the books were in water. The library has a room where things are quiet and the desk is empty. I joke that’s it’s like a sensory deprivation chamber that allows me to focus on nothing but writing. No Internet or YouTube, because I choose to shut off my Wi-Fi. And then sitting there knowing I’ll be there for 4 or 5 hours means I might as well start writing something…maybe the thing that’s on my schedule.