My old blue chair broke yesterday while I was strumming my guitar. I have to fix it because a new seat would stifle my creativity. For me, that blue chair is like Picasso’s blue guitar. Most writers have strange habits or superstitions; I only have one: that chair is where I am meant to sit when I write. I don’t mean where I want to sit, but where I should sit. During school, I wrote nearly every paper in that chair while leaning back as far as I could without tipping over. When I play guitar and am seriously creating, I feel the process flow most purely while in that chair. Before I went to college, I randomly snagged it from a pile of my parents’ antiques. I didn’t know the love that would develop. I’d be lying if I called it comfortable, but I like that it keeps me awake with its hard, wooden presence. — K.C.
