You’d think I’d be used to writing in hotel rooms by now. Sadly, I’ve discovered that most hotel rooms are the exact opposite of conducive to decent writing time. It’s driving me nuts!

There are many advantages to writing in this golden age of the internet. It doesn’t matter that I’m sitting here at a strange desk, not when I can google any pieces of information I don’t have immediately to hand. I can’t imagine what it must have been like for those using a typewriter, reaching for a thesaurus and only finding a Gideons bible and some hotel headed notepaper.

Maybe a room service menu, if you were staying somewhere classy…

Several of the greatest authors of all time produced career-defining works whilst living in hotel rooms. But let’s face it, none of them were probably staying at a Holiday Inn…

If you want to get things done, you have to force yourself to do them. I’ve realised over the past year that I actually do my best work when surrounded by creature comforts: my inspirational artwork on the walls, the sofa in the office, the books lining the walls. A stack of pens and notepads within arm’s reach to jot ideas. This is the perfect place for me to write.

It’s also the place I’m not in nearly as much as I would like.

I’m now beginning a quest instead to beat this frustration. Instead of just getting annoyed by the reduced output, I’m going to find a way to make the most of the time on the road, no matter how luxurious or shoddy the hotel is. I’m going to become a writing road warrior.

For now my only piece of advice, to quote Ben Folds, is ‘do it anyway’. Which, although it is probably the singular most important thing, is trite and meaningless without working out how. I love a good mystery, so I’m going to get to the bottom of it. Tonight, I’m going to revise this terrible scene that is refusing to co-operate, regardless of where I am sitting when I look at it. Maybe fixing that will help me unlock the keys to making the whole thing work.

Wish me luck!