The Art of Writing: A Necessary Madness

An effort to read at Peekskill Coffee House often becomes challenging as the engaging atmosphere consistently captures one's.

There’s no easy way to write. Either it’s inside of you, or it isn’t. You can’t force it, though you might wish you could. As spring finally takes off and the pollen-induced sneezes subside, my brain settles—or rather, I relax enough to let the words come.
Much like an “easy birth,” a phrase I first encountered in Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf, writing often arrives in unexpected ways—sometimes in a slow, painful labor, sometimes in an unstoppable flood. That scene where Elizabeth Taylor’s Martha explains it to Richard Burton’s George and their guests in a whiskey-fueled spiral—now that was a moment. Ugly truths spilling out, private games ending, and the kind of theatrical honesty that makes for unforgettable cinema.

​Focusing on writing when a dozen tasks demand attention? Forget it. Nothing else gets done until I have written something. One sentence, one thought—only then can I move forward. Strange as that may sound, that’s just how it works.

Lately, I’ve found solace in Music for Deep Intense Focus. The creator describes it as engineered to melt away mental clutter and sustain deep concentration. A lifeline when I need to clear my head—whether for writing, running, or even people watching.

​Speaking of which, yesterday I abandoned productivity altogether and sunk into Women in Love at the Coffee House. People-watching was, as always, unavoidable. Peekskill’s characters never disappoint. A familiar face on Howard Street, a new barista—handsome, spiky-haired, overly bendy. Why so much bending? A mystery for another time.

And now, I run—not from responsibility, but because the rhythm of my feet on the pavement might give me just one more sentence to carry forward.

Peekskill Coffee House