The first happened for me on an auspicious occasion: passing the hours beside my husband’s hospital bed. He was on a respirator after a massive heart attack, and at the time the extent of his recovery was unknown. As I listened to the beeping and whirring of the machines keeping him alive, a lightbulb clicked on in my brain. If I wasn’t going to write now, then when?

During his recovery, (his disabilities don’t limit his quality of life, thank goodness) I tried writing at home and found the environment full of distractions. Therefore, my first nine books were written via coffee shop hopping. This shop on Monday, that shop on Tuesday, etc. My virtual calendar worked like a well-oiled machine of lattes and iced teas.

That is, until the pandemic hit.

Suddenly, there were no coffee shops or public spaces to write. Without a home office or any private rooms, I was left trying to further my newly-chosen career between conversations about toilet paper and loads of laundry. My goals went from two chapters a day to “one hour, or whatever the day brings.”

I was perusing the internet one day when I discovered a solution: a one-person tent. With barely enough room for my folding deck chair and a small table for drinks, it suited my needs. I have a laptop and a laptop table to set my computer on, which didn’t take up any extra space.

We have a very small, wooden pad behind our place that was falling apart. (I won’t get into why it wasn’t replaced, that’s for an article about honey do’s) Though it wasn’t ideal, there were enough solid pieces on which to place my tent.

The next challenge was what to do when the temperature dropped. Though it’s rarely below zero where I live, the winters can be brisk. There was no room for a space heater, nor would I have felt comfortable using one in such close quarters. I decided layers and fingerless gloves would have to suffice.

Though there were days I shivered through my chapters, there were definite pluses. Having never spent much time in that area, I had no idea of the wildlife that frequented my yard. There was a hummingbird who visited daily, like clockwork, at two p.m. A particularly chatty squirrel came to collect his spoils buried months earlier. There was even a cat who showed up. She sat outside my tent, staring woefully through the front flap. (We came to a mutual understanding that my allergies weren’t conducive to the addition of a writing partner.)

As spring approached, I enjoyed the sounds of the songbirds in the tree and the smell of fragrant flowering bushes. Summer brought its own heat-related challenges, but I was able to break up my tent writing in order to make time to cool off.

When we reached the end of lockdown, I’d finished three additional books, as well as participated in several podcasts. Along with these accomplishments, I’d made a startling discovery. My definition of the perfect writing environment isn’t static. I can write wherever I find uninterrupted quiet, on precarious pieces of old wood, in the coffee shop, or on my bed. I never have to pause my career again because my circumstances aren’t ideal.

This spring I’ll spend some time in the writing tent to listen to the birds. I’ve found them to be equal in ambience to coffee shop chatter.

BIO: USA TODAY bestselling author, Joann Keder spent most of her life in the Midwest, growing up and raising a family on the Great Plains of Nebraska. She worked for sixteen years as a piano teacher before returning to school to receive a master’s degree in creative writing. A mid-life move to the Pacific Northwest led her to re-examine her priorities. She now creates stories about life and relationships in small towns while her ever-patient husband encourages her on. You can find all of her books at
http://www.joannkeder.com/