The Surprising Secret Behind Why Your Writing Space Could Make or Break Your Creativity

Oh So Clear

Bernard J. Noodle sits slumped in his home office, a room so dull it seems to suck the life out of every idea. For the last forty-seven minutes, the only word he managed to type was “The.” He’d written it, deleted it, and written it again – six times in a row.

Exasperated, he throws his head back with a loud groan, only to then stare at the ceiling for a while. That’s when his eyes focus on a crack, vaguely shaped like a moose. “A moose?” he mutters to himself. “Huh, alright…”

He begins typing:

The moose

He pauses. “Now, what about that damn moose? What do moose do?” After a few minutes, he continues typing:

stood there.

“Great,” he says flatly, “a standing moose.” He looks around, his eyes eventually landing on the potted plant in the corner, with its thin long leaves.

He types:

It chewed some grass.

Bernard pauses, leans back. “Right… that’s what moose do, I guess.” He looks at the potted plant again. Then he types:

The grass was kind of green, maybe.

He stops and mutters, “Kind of green? Seriously?” His fingers tap the backspace key, deleting the whole thing. After a deep breath, he tries again:

The moose stood there like a

“Yeah, like what?”

A sigh escapes him. “Ugh… What the heck am I even writing? A moose’s memoir: ‘Just Stood There’?! Delete. Delete. Delete.”

A long pause. Bernard rubs his temples, willing the words to flow. But nothing. Then his gaze lands on the cluttered desk. Papers are strewn about and there’s a mug. His fingers move once more:

The mug sat on the table.

“Alright, a mug. What else?” he asks himself.

It was round and had a handle.

“And?”

The mug was mostly white but had some spots on it.

“Aaaaaaand?”

It didn’t move or make any noise.