I don’t need an office, I just want one.

I’ve been writing for a very long time. I started as a kid, using mostly lined notebook paper and a pencil, but sometimes writing in a little journal adorned with cartoon characters and quirky little writing prompts. 

When I started doing the “serious” writing, the writing I thought of as my work, I still did a lot by hand. I used spiral notebooks and sometimes something fancier, like the little cloth-bound red and black Record book I must have picked up from a grocery store somewhere. My idea of fancy, anyway. 

I’m big on journals and notebooks—I’ve had hundreds of them. Mostly I hand-write things in my little pocket Moleskines, but over the years I’ve collected dozens of leather bound journals, some super fancy, some only kinda fancy. I’ve also filled more spirals notebooks and legal tablets and ring binders than I can count. 

But I’ve always had a hankering for the keyboard. 

When I was in high school my grandmother bought me a Canon Typestar 110 electric typewriter. I was learning to type on those giant, blue IBM Selectrics in school, and the idea of a battery-powered typewriter that would actually allow me to scroll up and edit, in-line, was an amazing novelty. I wrote every school paper and tons of short stories and “first thirds” on that typewriter. “First thirds” is what I call the starter chapters for various novels I began and abandoned over the years. 

Having a portable typewriter was handy, but at school I transitioned to the computer lab and to the computers in the journalism room. And that’s when I discovered the wonders of writing digitally. It wasn’t long after that I managed to snag a Commodore 128 and a dot matrix printer. My essays and papers and short stories didn’t look quite as crisp and clean as they once did, but there was suddenly a lot more of them.

After graduation I started college, and at the same time started working for Radio Shack. This was fortuitous, because I met my good friend Bob, who has been a lifelong pal, and who introduced me to flea markets. And it was at the flea market that I found and purchased my first laptop—a Tandy 1000 that was, at the time, nonfunctional. I paid $25 for it. A steal, even if it was a brick.

I have a background in electronics, so I was unafraid to open that laptop and see what was going wrong inside. It turned out to be something very simple and minor—a tiny short in the circuit regulating power, of the type that someone at a repair center must have made and overlooked. I removed the short with a soldering iron, and bam. Working laptop. Just in time for college English.

My English professor favored a particular word processing program, called Norton Textra, and had ensured that it was available for purchase in the college bookstore. It wasn’t expensive, from what I recall. But it was... glorious.

I had used various word processor programs up to that point, mostly whatever came with my computer. Which probably means something like Notepad, or whatever text editor was there by default. Norton Textra gave me a whole new lease on life, writing-wise. It had features, like grammar and spell check, and even a tool that measured the Flesch-Kincaid readability rating of your document. 

Norton Textra was my word processor of choice for years, until Microsoft essentially overwhelmed the world to become the dominant word processing tool. I was, eventually, forced to trade my beloved Norton Textra for Microsoft Works, and then eventually traded that for Microsoft Word. 

I still miss Norton Textra. Sometimes I Google it to see how it’s doing. 

Since those early days, there’s been multiple technological revolutions. Writing went from being an activity I did while locked in my bedroom to something I could do while sitting at a cafeteria table to something I could do literally anywhere I was. I’ve had an evolution happen under my fingertips, from the humble pencil and sheet of notebook paper to desktop computer to clunky laptop to portable and handheld devices. 

Even on that list, things evolved in astounding ways. At one point I was doing all of my writing on a Palm V with a portable keyboard—this was the era of the PDA, the “personal digital assistant,” which was the precursor of the smart phone and smart tablet. And from there I’ve had so many small, handheld writing tools and folding keyboards and Bluetooth devices, I couldn’t possibly recount them all. 

The current version of all of that, though, is that I have multiple devices to allow me to write in whatever way I need, whenever I need to do it. 

We’re currently on the road full time, so I’ve culled down some of what I had in my home office to be more portable. I was using a Mac Mini as my “office computer,” and my MacBook Pro as my “portable computer.” Because some of the work I do requires more computing power and options than writing requires. But because I’m obsessed with portability, I eventually started writing almost exclusively on my iPad Pro. Its “always-on” internet makes it ridiculously useful for quick research, and for instantly backing up everything I write to the cloud, which facilitates writing on whatever device I need, whenever I need to switch.

For a long while I was traveling to conferences via airplanes and rental cars, staying in hotel rooms just long enough to sleep and shower, and spending most of my time in hotel bars and lobbies. For those trips, I started using my iPhone for writing. All the same software is there, and it’s always in my pocket. 

At first I made sure I always had a folding keyboard or a Bluetooth keyboard with me, to make writing on my phone easier. But at times that’s tough, too. And sometimes I find myself sitting in space or waiting in a line or seated at an event that isn’t keeping my attention, and the urge to write strikes. So I have learned to use the onscreen keyboard of my iPhone, which allows me to write and edit from literally anywhere, literally anytime.

It’s been quite an evolution.

The point is, people often ask me about what it’s like to write from the road. They wonder if I ever feel cramped in the van, or if I ever get tired of having to “find a place to write.” They ask me if I miss my writer’s space, my little home office.

I do. But not for the reasons they may think.

The truth is, I’ve learned how to have an “office anywhere” headspace. 

My typical writing setup, in the van, is to turn the passenger seat around, kick my feet up on a little folding camp stool, and place my iPad on a little lap desk that rests on my knees. It’s probably one of the most comfortable writing spaces I’ve ever had. I may keep doing it, once we’re back in a house full time. 

And of course, I have my iPhone, which lets me write from literally anywhere. 

And to keep distractions at bay, I plug in my AirPod Pros, which dampen outside sound and let me “close the door” to what I think of as my “mental office.” 

This setup is flexible, and portable. Which is exactly what I need. It’s also kind of inspiring. 

I’ve come to realize that I have always preferred keeping my life and work portable. I have always preferred the “write from anywhere” philosophy. And technology has been evolving as I go, allowing me more and better options. It’s been wonderfully accommodating. 

I’m blessed to live in the era I do, but I think that in any era I would eventually have made my writing portable. What is a pocket Moleskine, after all, if not the ancestor of the iPhone? And portable typewriters... those have been around for centuries. I own a couple as collectibles now, and in a pinch I would definitely carry one along with me and set it up wherever I needed to work, if I had no other options.

Office anywhere. Write anywhere. It’s a philosophy that’s allowed me to travel full time and still produce books, stories, blog posts and more. The evolution of my writing life has made given me the flexibility and power to be a writer on my own terms. And that is something pretty wonderful.

---

Get my newest Quake Runner: Alex Kayne Thriller!

YOU ARE READING SIDE NOTES

Side Notes is an extension of my Notes at the End, which are author’s notes that appear at the end of every one of my novels. If you like these posts, you’ll love the books. 

If you’d like to support me (and see more posts like this) you can do me two favors: First, peruse my catalog of books and find something you’d like to read; and second, join my mailing list to become part of an amazing community of readers and friends I interact with regularly. Thank you for your support!

Photo courtesy of my amazing wife and resident sleepy-head photographer, Kara Tumlinson

Greetings from chilly Leander, Texas!

This morning we’re parked in an RV park in Leander, having rolled in from Sugar Land yesterday evening. We’d gotten a much later start than I had wanted—a lot of prep, packing, and organization got left to the last minute. But I think that worked out to our favor—it meant a few last hours with the in-laws, a very hearty breakfast, and a chance to catch a nap and do some reading before we got on the road.

A good day, in other words.

There was, of course, the obligatory stop at Buc-ee’s—the Texas landmark super-sized convince store chain that started it’s life in the same town where I started mine, Brazoria, Texas, ten years after I started roaming the Earth and asking where I could get some Beaver Nuggets. Ask and ye shall receive, Young Kevin.

Buc-ee’s has been a long-standing part of my mental and cultural landscape. I knew it first as a tiny, dingy convenience store in downtown Brazoria that in my teen years got an upgraded, fine-looking sister store several blocks away, and miles closer to my house. Just in time for me to get a driver’s license and a teenage lust for sodas and junk food, Buc-ee’s started its meteoric rise to Lone Stardom, establishing itself and its colorful red and yellow beaver logo as true Texas staple. With billboards punning and winning throughout the state, if you’re driving through you’re going to see it. And you are going to be intrigued.

And when you see the mega stations, with hundreds of pumps and crowds that would be envied by Disney World, you’re going to stop. Because nobody can pass that kind of spectacle.

Try the Beaver Nuggets, trust me.

Speaking of billboards, one of my favorite roadside ads in the entire world is a Buc-ee’s billboard, and the only one i’ve seen outside of Texas. It’s in Florida, of all places, and reads “Cleanest Restrooms Anywhere! 797 Miles. You can hold it!”

You gotta respect that kind of advertising acumen.

As much as I respect and love the Beaver (sounds dirtier than I intended), Buc-ee’s is just a way station, not the destination. Once Kara and I had our required road trip fare, it was back to the highways and byways, rumbling along in the Novel-T—our pet name for the 2020 Coachmen Beyond travel van we lived in for four months as we roamed from Texas, through lesser states (sorry Indiana), and into Michigan. We hadn’t intended to go there, hadn’t even heard of Holland, Michigan, before essentially throwing a dart at a map and deciding, “Yeah, that sounds good.” But that was maybe the best place we could have ended up, accidentally or otherwise. It was a healing kind of place, and a good start to an adventure that Kara and I had dreamt about for years.

We made our way through the rest of the country from there, not quite seeing it all but seeing enough to sate our travel lust for at least a short while. We had some bumps (literal and figurative), we had ups and downs, good times and bad, sickness and health. It was a good trip. Four months of travel, just the two of us and Mini, the tiny dog with the biggest heart of any living thing I know.

In November we had planned to go to Utah for Thanksgiving, but between snow and the pandemic and getting sick and a very unpleasant incident with the black tank that I’ll tell you over some stiff drinks, we decided it would be better to go “home.”

So that’s a loaded word, and it’s one I’ve come to appreciate in a new way lately. Home, as they say, is where the heart is. And since our hearts go with us, OR WE DIE, then home can be anywhere we are. Anywhere that we find the love, support, and joy of family and loved ones.

So when we decided we wanted to go “home,” it told me a story, though I wouldn’t understand it until later. This morning, in fact.

We needed to see family and friends. We needed to see comfortable and familiar surroundings. We needed to take a minute and regroup.

So we stayed with Kara’s folks from Thanksgiving through the New Year, a couple of months worth of chatting and having dinner together, having breakfast on Sundays, bickering sometimes about politics and pandemics, and sharing memories and stories. We saw friends, and took small road trips. And I personally read, and read, and read, and wrote some, too. And healed and rested, because I needed that.

But the itch started about a month ago, and yesterday I scratched like a bear rubbing the bark off of a pine. We got back into the van, back on the road, and headed for home.

The next home.

Something I forgot to mention earlier—on our way back to Sugar Land, we stopped near Austin, and started looking around for where we just might want to set down roots. We landed on a place, near Leander. And it’s currently being built. We’re beyond the moon excited, believe me!

It’s going to be months before the house is finished, and there are all sorts of challenges to deal with. Patience is the biggest. And honestly, the way the world is at the moment, there’s really no way to know for sure if things will or won’t fall to pieces. They could. The whole house deal could fall apart.

That’s the risk we’re all taking right now. The world is insane, and trying to steal our magic back. But to quote Red from Shawshank Redemption, “You either get busy livin’, or get busy dyin’.'“

The risk that things could fall apart can’t be an excuse to never try for what you want. Challenges and impossible-seeming odds make victory that much sweeter. Like a bag full of Beaver Nuggets.

Trust me, try them.

So for now, Kara and I are back in the van. We’re doing a little “Texas Tour.” We’re first putting ourselves in the place we’ll be living, trying the fit, getting comfortable with it. That’s something we’ve done since we’ve been married—put yourself in the space. Live as if. It’s led to some pretty amazing experiences for the two of us. We’ve gained a lot more than we’ve lost.

This chilled morning in Leander, with my back propped against a cushion, a cup of coffee at hand, and the sun rising outside the van’s window—with Mini rooting under the blanket covering my legs, and Kara apparently building a 747 out of odds and ends so she can go take a shower (seriously, she is one of the most elaborate preparation people I know), well… with all that, what else could I say but, “I’m home.”

Home again.

So what does home mean to you? Tell me in the comments. If you’ve read this far, you’ve earned some screen time of your own.

When Kara and I envisioned van life, it was all about road trips. We loved the idea of having our home with us, having a way to use the restroom, prepare a meal, take a nap, watch some TV, get a good night’s sleep—just somewhere other than where we always were. It’s been like that for about a month now, honestly. In fact, we’re two days shy of a month in the van. 

But we’re still in Houston.

So that was not something we envisioned. In fact, being in Houston in the Summer was something we were adamantly opposed to. If you’ve never been here, the breakdown is it’s hot, it’s humid, it’s twice as hot and humid as you were probably just imagining, and the closer you get to Houston, proper, the more allergy and lung issues you tend to have. Also, super more hot and humid than you’re imagining. 

The thought of weathering that heat and humidity in the travel trailer was bad enough, but doing it in the van seemed like a nightmare. And, to be honest, combatting those conditions has been a challenge. Our AC has run non-stop, and it’s proven inadequate to keeping things “crispy cool.” We end up having to idle the engine and run the in-dash AC for a couple of hours each day, to keep things below the high 80s to 90s.

We’re working on some solutions—like reflective screens for the windows. But that just means carrying something that takes up more space, requires more setup and breakdown, and blocks our view of the outside.

Or... we could go someplace where we can actually be outside without bursting into flames a la Dracula on beach day. 

We’ll get there. We’re just having to spend some time in Houston for a bit longer, get a few more doctor visits done, get a few more packages delivered, get a few more items moved in and/or out of storage.

That’s been an interesting and (admittedly) fun challenge: Getting things right.

For the most part, the van has everything we need. All our basic needs can be met, as long as we keep the reserve tank full of water and some food in the fridge. But as with society and culture as a whole, in our microcosm of existence, once you’ve met basic needs it’s time to start tinkering to increase the comfort, utility, and aesthetics of your environment. 

So for the past month, Kara and I have made some upgrades and tweaks. For example, we got foam mattresses with down toppers to go on top of the stiff cushions that came with the van. We’ve bought nice-looking quilts that add some color and visual interest, while also adding to our sleep comfort. We had the stiff back cushions that came with the van cut down so that they were narrower, and therefore not blocking our walking path as much (BONUS: I can also use one as a lap desk while I’m sitting on my bed).

To give us a little more fridge space, we bought a 12-volt-powered cooler fridge where we keep drinks and other items. It can be used as either a fridge or a freezer, and we have it hovering a little between the two. That’s handy, but it also doubles as a bench where I can sit and pull on socks and shoes in the morning. 

When we were in the travel trailer, we had two little USB fans that worked great, and stayed at our bedside. In the van, they’ve been a little more challenging to use. We don’t have “bedsides” anymore. But I was able to find two battery powered, USB-charged fans that have flexible tripods, allowing us to put them anywhere—even hang them from the cabinets above us so we can have a little more airflow during the day.

The van came with window coverings for the front, but they were bulky and didn’t help keep the heat out much. So I ordered a set of Heatshield reflective shades, custom fit for the Ford Transit. Those have made a huge difference, especially when combined with the existing screens. 

We’ve made some improvements outside the van as well. Since there’s no under-carriage storage, the way there has been in our previous RVs, we bought a StowAway hitch-mounted “trunk” to keep our camp chairs, outdoor stove, and hoses and power cables in. It’s worked out perfectly, especially with little wheel-hub organizers I have for our cables and hoses. 

But the thing I’m most proud of, outside the van, is that I installed quick-disconnects on the water inlet valves. In fact, if it involves water, going in or out of the coach, I have a quick-connect adapter on it. Thanks to this I’m able to set up or break down the whole thing in a few minutes—very handy for van life. We can go from over-nighting at an RV park to being on the road in under 10 minutes. Under 5 if I don’t have to refill the water reserves or empty the black and grey tanks. 

These modifications have been fun. They’re the kind of thing I seem to enjoy most about this lifestyle. I like thinking about ways to improve something, and then improving it. I’m carrying some basic tools with me—hand tools like a hammer, wrenches, sockets, pliers, screwdrivers, but also a battery-powered drill and saw. And, of course, my Swiss Army knife, the ultimate go-to tool. And with all of these, as compact as they are, I can do many things.

The key is to be able to think in terms of repurposing and using whatever you have to solve whatever problem comes up. I’m pretty handy, and can fix practically anything. My engineering background comes out, from time to time. But anyone can do this, if they’re willing to rethinking what they have and how it can be used. 

I used to love those little thought experiments where someone would give you and object and you had to think of as many ways to use it, aside from its intended purpose, as you possibly could, in just a few minutes. I still do that sort of thing on my own today. You should try it—it’s a great way to sharpen your creative problem solving skills.

As we move deeper into van life, I can already see that there will be challenges and issues and problems. It’s the nature of the thing. We live in a house that suffers a 5.0 earthquake every time we get on the road—stuff happens. And there will certainly be problems I can’t solve on my own, or can’t solve immediately. It’s the way it is.

But what I love most about van life is not only the challenge of solving those problems, but also the challenge of finding new and better ways to do things. I love having to think about everything I have with me—how many ways can it be used? Do I have something that could serve these two purposes, so that I don’t have to bring two different items? Can I make this thing work for that purpose, and leave that thing behind? 

I love it. I think it’s the way we all should think and operate. There’s something to be said for “the right tool for the job,” but there’s also something to be said for “don’t use a lack of tools as an excuse to not do the job.”

This is the stuff that makes a nomadic life fun.

Kevin Tumlinson is an award-winning and bestselling author, podcast host, and content creator. Follow Kevin and his adventures while traveling and writing by visiting AuthorOnTheRoad.com.

Kara and I are back in the Houston area, where we’ve been doing some... shifting. 

First, we came back to the area primarily to get to our three storage units, in an effort to consolidate them down to one. This turned out to be a little impractical—we still own a lot of stuff.

It’s a “problem” we’ve been dealing with for awhile now, but it’s become more prominent as we’ve stared making a move to be more minimalist in how we live. And I put “problem” in quotes because, when it comes down to it, having a bunch of stuff crammed into a storage unit isn’t that big of a deal. We’re just like millions of other Americans. More wealth than we can carry with us. 

But it’s quote-problem-quote because we’re aiming for that more minimalist approach to living. There’s something we’ve discovered, since getting on the road, that makes having multiple storage units—or even a single storage unit—a quote-problem-quote. It has less to do with the stuff and more to do with what the stuff means to us.

Those storage units contain a lot of old memories. Nostalgia, in some cases. But in others it’s just... weight. 

As I was moving around furniture and crates and boxes, I made a joke I’ve made before: “Why is everything we own heavy?”

There’s a sutra in that question. 

As Kara and I have transitioned to living full time out of a small space, forced to travel light because we simply can’t carry everything with us, it’s started to dawn on us that the less we have to be concerned about, physically, the less concerned we feel, psychologically. The weight of all that stuff starts to slough off, and we start to feel free. 

That’s one of the reasons we’ve ended up spending more time messing around with the storage units than we first intended. We’re starting to look at “owning things” in a new way. For one, we’re starting to realize that for awhile now it’s our stuff that’s owned us, not the other way around.

Case in point: We’re paying for three storage units, to house a bunch of stuff that is a mix of things we care about and things that we don’t. We’re paying money for it to sit there, unused. Most of it we’ve wanted to replace or dispose of for a long while. 

So... joke’s on us.  Our stuff has us right where it wants us.

When we first got back to Houston I took a week off to just start ploughing through the bigger of the three storage units, with the goal of emptying it entirely. It was harder than I anticipated, because all that stuff kept reminding me of reasons to keep it. “You might need this thingy some day. Wouldn’t this doohickey be handy under the right circumstances? This is a jigamabob that you got from person X... you wouldn’t want them to think you’re ungrateful!”

I’m a contingency kind of guy. Call it Boy Scout preparedness—I like to keep resources handy, just in case. Tools, materials, equipment, you name it. I still have junk I picked up in my teens.

So many things I own are there for contingencies.

The trouble is, those contingencies rarely happen. And though it’s nice to have a few things on hand that I can use to solve problems, it’s a rare day indeed when I need to dig through The Box of Many Wires and retrieve that old cable that I kept from a gaming system I haven’t had since 1992.

So, tough as it was, Kara and I started making the hard decisions, and letting a lot of our stuff go.

Donation bins are currently bulging with my contingency items, as well as clothes and shoes I don’t have room for, tools I have in triplicate, video equipment that hasn’t worked since the first President Bush was in office, and so forth. 

We managed to cull things down from three storage units to just two.

That may not sound like a huge leap forward, but it did wonders for taking some of the weight off of our shoulders. It’s a good start. And it really is just that—a start. Our plan is to come back periodically and do more clearing in the storage units, until one day, finally, we should be rid of a second one. And then, maybe, we’ll try downsizing the third one. I’d love to get that pile down to about half the size of one of those units. 

To be sure, there are things we’ll always hold on to. Kara’s grandmother left us some very nice antique furniture that we want to put in a forever home some day. I have certain studio gear that I want to use in that same home, in a dedicated studio space. There are various items that have nostalgic value for us. But if we are honest and diligent with culling this stuff down, I think we’ll find ourselves feeling less weighted down by it. 

Less mental weight to slow us down as we travel through the world and experience life. Less weight to hold me back as I write and produce more books and content.  That’s just good for everyone. 

And as a part of going more minimalist... we’re downsizing our living space.

A little over a week ago we took a leap and traded the truck and travel trailer for a travel van.

Effectively, we cut our living in space in half, meaning we have to carry even less with us as we travel the US. 

#VanLife

The people who know about this already have been surprised and, I think, a little delighted by the move. It’s tough to figure out, I know. We had a hard time envisioning this at first ourselves.  But now...

So the progression was to first sell our four-bedroom, 2500 square-foot home and moving into a one-bedroom apartment. Then we moved into a 38-foot motorhome. Then we moved back into a two-bedroom apartment, then to a three-bedroom apartment. And then we downsized back into a travel trailer. And now we’re living in a van that has roughly 120 square-feet of living space.

Go figure. 

Downsizing has definitely forced us to be more minimalist, but it’s also forced us to be more creative with what we do carry. Everything has to serve more than one purpose, for example. Things also have to be moved from place to place in what my friend Joe Russo calls “the van shuffle.” (See Joe & Kait Russo’s own van life/camper life adventures at https://weretherussos.com). It’s a bit of work, and a huge shift in mindset. But it’s... well, it’s oddly fun. And, even better, it’s oddly freeing. 

We live in this tiny space, but our lives just got a lot bigger. 

I’ll be covering more about van life and our adventures on the road in future posts, as we learn and grow into this. But Kara and I are excited about all of this. And Mini, despite pouting a little at first, has gotten into her own groove. 

We’re living smaller and it’s making our lives so much larger. I can’t wait to see where we grow from here.