Steve Edward Farley


Where you write can be as important to you as what you write. Everyone is different; therefore, we all work and write differently. Some of us can write in a crowded place other need total silence. If given a choice, I like to write outdoors, under the shade of a tree with a cool breeze. Being outside helps me to fully engage my senses. I can smell the restaurants around me cooking lunch, I can watch seaplanes landing on the lake, the southern breeze always brings in the scent of the waters tide.

Having those details on hand helps to be descriptive while writing. However, if I waited until only the nicest days to write I would finish a novel once per year, that said I work very well during crappy days too. Living in Florida I am used to rain. Most of the times the showers are daily but short, still long rainy days happen in the Sunshine State. During those times I love to brew a dark roast, open the blinds to my balcony and watch nature happen.

The clap of thunder always brings my animals closer, and I love to write on days like this. I can work for hours without distractions. Still I can’t save writing for my off time or it would still take me a long time to finish novels. Therefore, elect to write from my desk at work. I work at a hotel and during my down time I write.

I have written half a dozen books from the check in counter at my hotel, but it is funny. Unlike at home where I need silence and calm, at work it is nothing short of organized chaos. Hotel guests can be extremally texting, having an outlet to escape and forget disgruntled and sometimes insulting people is resource I am forever thankful for.

In my previous articles I have spoken about how writing is in escape, but it is truly more. If I have an unfortunate experience with another person it is a great thing to write about, that argument or interaction is a real as it can get.  Getting it captured on paper in your words not only takes power away from the stressful situation, but the writer can also make it comical.

Warren is stuck, Jenny must get him out. They found this crappy hotel on trip advisor. Her building is on the other end of the property, she is covered in rain.

Bursting into the registration building Jenny charges forward, slamming her hand down she gets his attention.

“My f****** husband is stuck in the elevator, the power in the building is off.”

“There storm must have popped the breaker, I have key to get him out.”

“Okay I called the fire department.” Jenny informs.

The worker leads the way, outside they are swallowed up by the storm, it stings as it pelts their skin at such velocity. The honk of the fire engine is heard as they cross the street and make their way to the back of the building. The worker runs over to the fire fighters approaching the stairs, handing one of them the key for the elevator, he opens the stairwell.

The men are about to go upstairs, when Jenny decides to make them understand the seriousness of the situation. She charges forward from her dry place under an awning, she pushes into the semi-circle of men, falling to her knees, she splashes into a big puddle, soaking her jeans further and the hotel workers shoes.

Jenny looks up into the heavens, rain pours down her face and she scream. “WHY!” The fire fighters look at her for a moment, then at each other uncomfortably and begin going up the stairwell to rescue her husband. The worker helps her up, crossing under the awing the two of them enter the darkened elevator room. The hotel worker leaves the woman, she is waiting. She doesn’t know for how long, then lights come on above the elevator powers on!

It comes down to the first floor, but her husband is nowhere to be found!

She goes inside and presses floor two. Maybe he got off on one of the other two floors. Then the power goes off again!

This time she is stuck!

“Jenny!” It’s Mark, her husband.

“Honey I am trapped.”

“Hold on.”

Ten minutes later the door opens and she is on the bottom floor, seeing her husband Jenny dives into his arms, they make out like he had just returned from the war, never mind that they are in their late fifties and the disgruntled hotel worker looks revolted at their embrace.  

This was a real story, I made up names to protect myself legally. But I took a stressful day and made it work for me. When writing find what works for you whatever you do don’t be a person writes in coffee shops…