How to Create the Perfect Writing Space

Bryan Young
June 13, 2024 | 3 min read

Writing spaces are intensely personal things. We all have a place — maybe even more than one — where we love to write. If we're lucky, we get to arrange it just the way we like it.

The key is to create a space that helps you focus and inspires you. Because that's the ideal writing space: whether it's a fixed point in your house, or a setup that travels with you, the point of this space is not to be pretty or professional, or to impress others or look good on social media. The point is to provide an ambience that gets you in the mood to write.

Of course, what that looks like depends on the sort of person you are and what works for you. So much of setting up a writing space that helps you focus is about knowing yourself personally.

For me, I have a desk facing a window, where I can look out in front of my house. It’s a standing desk so that I can stretch and stand when I want to. I also have a ridiculously expensive chair that helps keep by back from getting sore while I'm sitting.

Bryan Young's Workspace

Bryan's Workspace

Some writers find windows too distracting, so their space is more easily hacked by facing their desk toward a wall. Stephen King counseled that writers put their desks in the corner of the room:

“Every time you sit down there to write, remind yourself why it isn’t in the middle of the room. Life isn’t a support-system for art. It’s the other way around.”

Making sure the ergonomics and lighting are right is important, too. Ergonomics doesn’t just apply to the keyboard you use. Make sure your desk is at the right height and you’re not hurting yourself as you do your work. Stretch and stand often.

Make sure the lighting in the room allows you to see what you’re doing without eye strain but also is conducive to your creativity. For me, warm Edison lights seem to work when sunlight is absent. Sometimes, early on winter mornings, candlelight keeps me writing in my journal.

Freewriter @nok2da's Workspace
Freewriter @nok2da's Workspace

Keeping the temperature comfortable is also vital. If you’re worried about being too hot or too cold, you’re not thinking about your writing.

Clutter on your desk is another thing that varies by writer. Personally, I can handle clutter on my desk, the bones of the last few projects and the random business cards of my last couple of appearances — to a certain point. After that point, I can't focus, and I have to clean the whole thing off just to start my clutter collection all over again. The difficult thing is recognizing when it’s the clutter inhibiting my productivity and not something else affecting me and causing me to procrastinate.

Sometimes, switching your workspace altogether will add novelty to your routine and allow you to focus on work with a slight change of pace. That coffee shop, bar, or library might be the perfect office-away-from-the-office for you to meet your next deadline. 

Freewriter Annie Cathryn's Workspace

Freewriter @msanniecathryn's Workspace

Your digital workspace is important, too.

There are lots of things you can do to help increase focus and productivity with the digital tools you use. The legendary comics writer Brian K. Vaughan once said,

"Writer's block is just another word for video games."

Delete all of the game apps from your phone. Close apps like Discord or Slack and set your phone to “Do Not Disturb” mode. For me, the best thing to do is to switch howI’m writing. To switch my method of input.

My Freewrite is how I draft my novels, precisely because it gives me a distraction-free workspace. If I am struggling with a particular scene, I might do that day's work with pen and paper. Or my typewriter. Switching howyou’re writing will activate different parts of the brain and keep you moving forward instead of checking the same three websites over and over and over again in a constant loop for days on end.

Most importantly, discover which hacks work for you. Experiment.

Trial and error is the best way to figure out your ideal workspace for your creative process.

 

Return to “Writing Productivity Hacks"

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I’ve spent years writing while secretly fearing that a single misplaced word would expose me — not just as a bad writer, but as a fraud.

My background is originally in photography, and I see it there, too. A photographer I know recently posted a before-and-after comparison of their editing from 2018 versus now, asking if we also saw changes in our own work over the years.

Naturally, we should. If our work is the same, years apart, have we really grown as artists?

So why is that the growing, the process of it, the daily grind of it, is so painful?

So why is that the growing, the process of it, the daily grind of it, is so painful?

The Haunting

Hitting “publish” on an essay or a blog always stirs up insecurity — the overthinking, the over-editing. The fear that someone will call me out for not being a real writer.

I initially hesitated to make writing part of my freelance work. My background is in photography and design. Writing was something I gravitated toward, but I had no degree to validate it. No official stamp of approval.

Like many writers, I started with zero confidence in my voice — agonizing over edits, drowning in research, second-guessing every word.

I even created a shield for myself: ghostwriting.

I even created a shield for myself: ghostwriting.

If my words weren’t my own, they couldn’t be wrong. Ghostwriting meant safety — no risk, no vulnerability, just words without ownership.

I still remember the feeling of scrolling to the bottom of an article I had written and seeing someone else’s name, their face beside words that had once been mine.

The truth is, I always wanted to write. As a kid, I imagined it. Yet, I found myself handing over my work, letting someone else own it.

I told myself it didn’t matter. It was work. Getting paid to write should be enough.

But here’s the thing: I wasn’t just playing it safe — I was slowly erasing myself. Word by word. Edit by edit. And finally, in the by-line.

I wasn’t just playing it safe — I was slowly erasing myself. Word by word. Edit by edit. And finally, in the by-line.

The Disappearing Act

This was true when I was writing under my own name, too. The more I worried about getting it right, the less I sounded like me.

I worried. I worried about how long an essay was (“people will be bored”), finding endless examples as proof of my research (“no way my own opinion is valid on its own”), the title I gave a piece (“it has to be a hook”), or editing out personal touches (“better to be safe than be seen”).

I built a guardrail around my writing, adjusting, tweaking, over-correcting. Advice meant to help only locked me in. It created a sentence rewritten to sound smarter, an opinion softened to sound safer, a paragraph reshaped to sound acceptable.

I built a guardrail around my writing, adjusting, tweaking, over-correcting.

But playing it safe makes the work dull. Writing loses its edge.

It took deliberate effort to break this habit. I’m not perfect, but here’s what I know after a year of intentionally letting my writing sound like me:

My work is clearer. It moves with my own rhythm. It’s less shaped by external influence, by fear, by the constant need to smooth it into something more polished, more likable.

But playing it safe makes the work dull. Writing loses its edge.

The Resurrection

The drive for acceptance is a slippery slope — one we don’t always realize we’re sliding down. It’s present in the small choices that pull us away from artistic integrity: checking how others did it first, tweaking our work to fit a mold, hesitating before saying what we actually mean.

And let’s be honest — this isn’t just about writing. It bleeds into everything.

It’s there when we stay silent in the face of wrongdoing, when we hold back our true way of being, when we choose work that feels “respectable,” whatever that means. It’s in every “yes” we say when we really want to say “no.”

If your self-expression is rooted in a need for acceptance, are you creating for yourself — or for others? Does your work help you explore your thoughts, your life? Does it add depth, energy, and meaning?

My work is clearer. It moves with my own rhythm. It’s less shaped by external influence, by fear, by the constant need to smooth it into something more polished, more likable.

I get it. We’re social creatures. Isolation isn’t the answer. Ignoring societal norms won’t make us better writers. Often, the most meaningful work is born from responding to or resisting those norms.

But knowing yourself well enough to recognize when acceptance is shaping your work brings clarity.

Am I doing this to be part of a community, to build connections, to learn and grow?

Or am I doing this to meet someone else’s expectations, dulling my voice just to fit in?

The Revival

Here’s what I know as I look back at my writing: I’m grateful for the years spent learning, for the times I sought acceptance with curiosity. But I’m in a different phase now.

I know who I am, and those who connect with my work reflect that back at me — in the messages they send, in the conversations we share.

I know who I am, and those who connect with my work reflect that back at me — in the messages they send, in the conversations we share.

It’s our differences that drive growth. I want to nurture these connections, to be challenged by difference, to keep writing in a way that feels like me. The me who isn’t afraid to show what I think and care about.

So, I ask you, as I ask myself now:

If no one was watching, if no one could judge, what would you write?

If no one was watching, if no one could judge, what would you write?

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