I cannot write in chaotic environments. I find it nearly impossible to focus and deliberate when surrounded by commotion, hubbub, chatter, even clutter—which rules out a lot of places. Last year I tried writing in a small college library. Initially, it offered the unobtrusive, almost soundless and studio-like atmosphere in which I work best. Then the library staff rearranged the furniture, including my favorite table, and students returned from their break, huddled and listened to pop music on their laptops, and conversed on their phones. Then came a new and improved “quiet area.” In the process, though, staff covered all the electrical outlets with seven-by-seven abstract paintings.

We’ve all heard that proverb, “The world doesn’t recognize your need to write.” When it comes to our writing, the world is uncaring, downright insolent. Before the library experiment, I found a local coffee shop with an almost contemplative atmosphere. Then the baristas discovered Pandora. Then they added a grand piano. Every time I find the ideal location in which to write, this process repeats itself. I fold up my laptop and move on to the next place.

Inadvertently, I discovered something—that a change in atmosphere can reveal our tendencies. When I went through the coffee shop stretch, I wrote an awful lot of coffee shop scenes, which is fine—to a point. Some writers, maybe most for all I know, can write at the same desk, day after day. You have to determine whether you are one of those people. I know that I’m not. I fall into a rut too easily and writing becomes like a sacred ritual that goes stale from the tedium.

For now, I’m moving forward with this nomadic approach. I keep two white noise MP3s on my laptop and carry large headphones. Sometimes it works. Then again, sometimes you find yourself at Panera Bread and every member of the table of six to your left is full of self-importance, determined to be heard above all else, and there’s nothing you can do but move on. Finally, two weeks ago, I went into one of those price clubs and bought a fold up table with a handle and a lightweight folding chair (from recycled materials) so that I can set up outdoors, anywhere with electrical access, until the Georgia heat and humidity get out of hand. Eventually, they will.

The late Harry Crews once described how he woke at 4 am and wrote until 8:30, when his gym opened. “Whatever doesn’t get written between 4:00 and 8:30 doesn’t get written,” he said. 

For myself and likely for most of you, Crews’ schedule is impractical. What I’ve latched onto, though, is the phrase, “Whatever doesn’t get written… doesn’t get written.” No one cares whether you write or not. They really don’t. They’re not going to tone down their table conversations or take their cell phone calls outside out of respect for your art. You may find yourself having to constantly outrun them. Go buy a fold-up table and chair if you have to.