Where Chloe Angyal Writes

I used to be able to write almost anywhere. Cross-legged on a hotel room floor in the only spot that had both good light and a strong wifi signal. Hunched over in an airplane seat knowing damn well the stranger next to me was seeing every word I wrote as it appeared on my screen. Folded behind a table in a crowded and noisy cafe, encased in a tiny personal bubble of silent focus, with a grumbling stomach and stone-cold three-hour-old coffee for company.

I can’t do that shit anymore. I need silence. I need space. I need a comfy chair. I need an endless supply of hot coffee; the second I start feeling hungry, I stop being able to focus on words or ideas until I’ve put carbs into my body. So I love my little upstairs office, which I painted green and filled with plants and have nicknamed The Jungle.

The desk is a repurposed dining room table, which my grandparents acquired in the 1940s. It can technically seat twelve when it’s folded out and has all the leaves put in. But as a desk, it’s petite, which means I have to keep it tidy or it starts feeling chaotic and hostile to organized thoughts. The artwork is mostly depictions of Sydney, my hometown, and where my next two books are set. I’m a long way from home, and I miss the harbour and the mountains and the way you can get a world class coffee on basically every corner. The natural light is great for writing and terrible for video calls.

And the hotel front desk bell was a gift from my fiancé, who gave it to me to ring every time I hit my daily word count goal for my first book. I’d ring it and, wherever he was in the house, he’d yell “wooo!” and then my writing day would be over. Sometimes, when he’s out of town, I’ll text him a bell emoji. Small celebrations of small goals are the only way I convince myself I can complete the entire thing. Eighty thousand or a hundred thousand words is a lot of words, and it takes the pressure off when all you have to do each day is write eight hundred or a thousand words. If they’re crap, okay, they’re crap. But it’s a small amount of crap, and tomorrow you’ll be better. You’re not trying to write a book, you’re just trying to make it to the bell, and if it takes eight hundred crap words to get you there, so be it.

Welcome to The Jungle. We take it day by day.

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