When most of us think about the perfect writing environment, we always tend to look at the physical attributes: the ergonomic desk, the selected stationery, the ambient lighting, and perhaps that quintessential cup of coffee or a pot of tea. Well, these tangible elements surely facilitate the creative process, but they represent the sheer manifest content of what writers truly seek; but there is much more in the latent end of that.
The notion of ‘right space’ extends beyond the commonly understood physical limitations and penetrates the psychological sphere. Virginia Woolf’s ‘a room of one’s own’ supports the idea that ‘the room’ exists within one’s mind. For fiction writers especially, whose craft demands immersion in imagination and exploration of emotions, establishing a tranquil mental space becomes not just beneficial but essential. This mental sanctuary, accounting for perhaps most of what makes up an effective writing environment, serves as the true foundation upon which creative work flourishes, regardless of whether one writes at a fancy desk in a cozy hotel room, or during a commute on a crowded train.
The psychological dimensions of a writing space have been explored by numerous authors across generations. Japanese novelist Haruki Murakami describes his writing process as entering a different mental plane, stating in his memoir ‘What I Talk About When I Talk About Running’: ‘I’m not a person who can work well in noisy surroundings. I’m the kind who doesn’t need anything else when I write. I just need to be alone, in a kind of trance.’ This trance-like state exemplifies the mental space that supersedes physical requirements. Similarly, British author Zadie Smith has spoken about the necessity of creating ‘internal silence’ amidst external chaos. In her essay collection ‘Changing My Mind,’ Smith reflects on writing parts of her acclaimed novels in cafes and public spaces, noting that the ability to psychologically withdraw from immediate surroundings becomes a cultivated skill. American writer Jonathan Franze worked in a sparsely decorated office wearing noise-cancelling headphones—not merely to block sound, but to signal to his consciousness the transition into a creative mental territory. I have done most of my writing at cafes. Whether they are busy places in the heart of a South Asian city, or else peaceful places in Europe does not matter. My creative process triggers in the cafes. I have all adjustable tables, and multiple writing spaces in my houses in all the countries I share my year, but those tables are serving as beds for my laptop and notebooks. They have not done anything substantial when it comes to my creative process. These diverse approaches from writers across continents including, my own experience, underscore a universal truth: the physical writing environment serves as a gateway to the psychological space where creation occurs. Often, the mental space is the one that creates the perceptual set, as our brain does not differentiate what is imagined and what is real.
The cultivation of this mental landscape requires deliberate practice and often evolves throughout a writer’s career. Pitchaya Sudbanthad, a contemporary Thai author, wrote his debut novel, ‘Bangkok Wakes to Rain,’ in various locations across multiple continents, ranging from peaceful libraries to vibrant street food markets. ‘The constant changing of physical spaces,’ he notes in interviews, ‘forced me to anchor my writing not in location but in mental discipline.’ This sentiment echoes across cultures and eras. I am no exception, for the last two decades, I have been travelling in over fifty countries, and I always have a writing project with me—transit airports have witnessed me completing chapters. Russian novelist Fyodor Dostoevsky wrote some of his most notable work amid personal turmoil and challenging circumstances, demonstrating that internal sanctuary can withstand external adversity. American poet Mary Oliver frequently composed while walking through natural landscapes, carrying only minimal writing materials, allowing the rhythm of movement to shape her mental space. In today’s connected world, where diverse distractions compete for attention, the crafting of psychological space has become profoundly challenging, yet more vital than ever. Writers now must not only find physical quietude but also digital silence, creating boundaries that protect the fragile mental territory where imagination is birthed.
Mindfulness practices have emerged as valuable tools for contemporary fiction writers seeking to establish this essential mental space. British novelist Jeanette Winterson incorporates meditation into her daily writing routine, stating that ‘clearing the mind before writing allows characters to speak without the author’s ego intervening.’ Chinese-American author Yiyun Li describes in her memoir ‘Dear Friend, from My Life I Write to You in Your Life’ how periods of focused contemplation help her access the emotional depth required for fiction. Even Ernest Hemingway, writing in a pre-digital era, practiced his own form of mindfulness through his disciplined approach of stopping each day’s writing session at a point where he knew what would happen next—a technique that allowed his subconscious to remain engaged with the narrative during non-writing hours. During one of our chats, Somali-Eritrean writer Sulaiman Addonia told me that his writing happens in a subconscious state where he does not see the world judging him. So, he allowed that mental stage to set in, creating a creative space within. These can be diverse in the methods but share a common purpose: to create the psychological conditions conducive to sustained creative work. For today’s writers, techniques borrowed from mindfulness traditions offer structured approaches to establishing mental boundaries in environments increasingly hostile to focused attention.
The relationship between physical and psychological space manifests differently across cultures, influenced by varied philosophical traditions and material circumstances. Indian author Arundhati Roy famously took years to write her second novel, ‘The Ministry of Utmost Happiness,’ creating what she called ‘internal architecture’ before committing words to page. This concept reflects Eastern philosophical traditions that emphasize internal preparation and contemplation. Meanwhile, German writer Jenny Erpenbeck describes her writing process as requiring ‘emotional emptiness’—a state she achieves through rigorous scheduling and physical ritual. Nigerian novelist Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie transitions between continents and works in various environments, yet maintains that her true writing space exists in what she calls ‘emotional memory,’ a psychological territory she can access regardless of location. These diverse approaches reveal that while cultural contexts may shape how writers conceptualize their process, the fundamental need for psychological space transcends geographical boundaries. The universal challenge for contemporary fiction writers lies in reconciling traditional needs for mental sanctuary with modern realities that increasingly blur the boundaries between work, leisure, and creative endeavour.
In our current era, where productivity is often equated with constant output and digital connectivity has redefined presence, fiction writers face unprecedented challenges in establishing the mental space essential to their craft. The Finnish author Sofi Oksanen notes that “fiction requires a different kind of time—not the fragmented attention of social media, but deep, uninterrupted immersion.” This distinction highlights perhaps the most significant contemporary obstacle to creating psychological writing space: the fragmentation of attention and the commodification of time. Spanish novelist Javier Marías, before he died in 2022, spoke of writing as ‘a form of resistance against the acceleration of modern life,’ suggesting that the act of creating fiction has become inherently countercultural. For today’s writers across continents, establishing mental space often requires deliberate resistance against societal pressures toward constant productivity and connectivity.
The ideal environment for writing fiction is internal—a carefully built and guarded space within one’s mind. The physical aspects of my writing space—from the desk to the coffee cup—act as tools and rituals that help me access the boundless world of my imagination. As American author George Saunders once told: ‘Don’t worry about the room. Make room in your mind, and the words will find their place.’
Pramudith D Rupasinghe
About the Author
Pramudith D Rupasinghe is a Sri Lankan writer and humanitarian. His literary works predominantly unfold in settings beyond his native Sri Lanka, for which he earned the name ‘Writer Without Borders. His work of fiction, ‘Bayan,’ set in pre-conflict Ukraine, won the Golden Aster Prize for Global Literature in 2020 and was longlisted for the 2023 Paris Book Festival. Rupasinghe’s works have been translated into several languages, including Sinhalese, Burmese, German, Spanish, Russian, Polish, Bulgarian and French. He has also dedicated two decades to humanitarian work, drawing inspiration for his writing from his missions to Africa, Europe, Southeast Asia, and the Middle East. He is known for his thought-provoking narratives that delve into the human psyche, cultural identities, and global experiences.
