I've come to the conclusion that I can't write at home (at least nothing more than blog posts or articles). This is nothing new, I just have to remind myself of this every now and then.
Last week I went out for a long walk around the neighborhood--I've discovered that I'm bored with this area--and took an extended rest at the Xinjiang restaurant. I managed to start writing a new story within minutes of sitting down and ordering a beer. And this same thing happened last night (although it was poetry rather than a story).
This certainly dates back to my time in Boulder, CO, and the time I spent working on my creative dissertation at the sake bar. I quickly discovered that this habit only worked if I had one or two drinks--anything more turned my writing to garbage.
With my discovery (OK, it's just a reminder to myself) I will most likely spend the better part of my last four weeks in this city taking short walks that will end at the Xinjiang restaurant with a bottle of Tsingtao.