In the last few weeks I've been desperately trying to complete the rewrite of a new play. I have the momentum. I have the focus. I even have the ending. But my apartment and all of its routine distractions [email, UPS man, my loud neighbor and his snoring hung-over mornings] hasn't been feeling like a safe haven. The cafe is a bit distracting with all of its eye candy and flirting [I'm talking about me, not the innocent eye candy]. The library... well... stalking is not my idea of literary oblivion. So... yesterday morning I recalled how much work I accomplish on cross country flights and long train rides. It's something about the time constraint and the destination and the corner seat by the window that proves to be a haven for productivity. So I decided to take a train to... Boston. Business class, of course. And four glorious hours of solitude. No distractions. Just amazing landscape. By the way, northern Connecticut and Massachusetts are warmly breathtaking. Full of bogs and forests and marshes. Small towns still drifting in early American simplicity. If I had a cup of warm apple cider... Wow.

Needless to say, it was the best short-term writer's residency I have ever experienced.

I think I'll try it again. Next time... somewhere into Pennsylvania.

Until next time,

Keith