Under the stairs...

It's not always easy to find a quiet place to write. There are so many distractions; annoying siblings, a bedroom that looks like a bomb's hit it (and I really do know what that looks like), or simply all the endless little things that nag and worry.

All writers dream of the perfect place - a decent chair and a desk big enough to accommodate your elbows. Sigh. If only. I wrote Young Eagle Rising under the stairs.

The space was less than 2 feet wide, so not even enough room to throw up my hands in frustration. There were two shelves: the first held my laptop, while pinned to the second was a list of prepositions that reminded me daily I wasn't supposed the end a sentence with any of them if I could help it. (Although grammar rules are a lot more flexible these days). The bare, under-stairs bulb dazzled my eyes so much that in the end I wore sunglasses, while my feet were so cold in winter I resorted to a hot water bottle. On the floor behind me lay a plethora of boots, shoes, slippers, the occasional single sock and several smelly insoles, while coats, scarves and hats hung from the wall pegs. I used to imagine that if I could only struggle through this barrage of winter-wear, I would find snow, a lamp post and Mr Tumnus. I would find Narnia.

My advice? Ideas can come at the weirdest moments, so keep a good old fashioned pen and paper handy. Jot down your thoughts, then when you finally do find some peace and quiet, you’ll already have some of the building blocks necessary to pull your essay etc. together.