My writing rituals are fairly ordinary and my workspace extremely mundane. Typically, I draft my writings by hand, where I absolutely must use a black felt tip pen, preferably a Flair. With this pen, I can recline and keep the ink flowing. Sometimes I write on my living room sofa; other times I’m at my local natural food store that has free wi-fi—a fact that is important and I’ll describe in a minute. Typically, I write either very late at night or early in the morning, such as right now.

So, anyway, my handwritten drafts just tend to be a list of notes, phrases that roll around in my mind, and perhaps some more complicated explications. Then I move to my PC and flesh out the text. Now, when I am creating digital art, I typically skip the handwritten bit and just go straight to my computer and start working. My computer is in my bedroom/library/office/storeroom…. See, I live in this really, really small apartment and most rooms are utilized in a multipurpose manner. No I do not write in the bathroom but I have had many inspired thoughts there.

I don’t have too many odd things around my workspace—just usual things like books, papers, music CDs, books, a vacuum cleaner, my bed, a DVD of Qi Gong exercises (which I watch on my computer because my DVD player is broken,) books and more books. Regarding books, the two that are right next to my monitor at the moment are Writing Down the Bones by Goldberg and Krause’s Color Index: CMYK and RGB Formulas for Print and Web Media.

I don’t usually listen to anything specific when I write or make art. At the moment I am listening to some guy on the radio ranting about the state of the world—oh, I just heard a crow caw right outside the window—really, I’m not making this up—and two bus lines roar by my front door every five minutes from about 5:30 am to about 9 p.m, rattling the windows and drowning out any other sounds. In hot weather, when I have my bedroom windows open, I can hear everything coming from the people who live in the building next door. I hear them talking, cooking, watching tv, entertaining, etc. This is usually followed by the sounds of my muttering something about their getting a room somewhere else and the loud sliding shut of said bedroom window.

I have no other writing rituals except when I work at my computer, I MUST have something to drink—it can be anything (usually coffee) as long as it is sitting on the right side of my computer—which is interesting because I am left-handed. Also, and more importantly, I can’t even begin to work unless I check my e-mail first. I don’t know why this is, but I cannot work until every unread e-mail is read. So when I am writing somewhere not my home, then I must find a place with a free wi-fi spot (such as my local natural food market), when I can plug in my Ipod and look at my e-mail. Oh, no, I’m not addicted at all to the internet, nope, not me.

My ending ritual is realizing that I have to be somewhere else, scrambling to sign off, and bolting out of the room–Such as now– It is now 6:20 in the morning and I have to hustle to get ready for work.

L. Gloyd (c) 2008