I used to write sitting at a gorgeous 60-year-old mahogany desk, carefully and expertly handcrafted by my late grandfather-in-law. It was nestled in the corner of our spare room. I would type away into the night. A big cozy chair beside the desk gave me a place to write when I wanted to sit back and go old-school with pen and paper.
Then we had children.
The spare room was no longer spare. The old beautiful desk had to be relocated to the corner of the living room. The comfy chair is in my bedroom. I still went to that desk and that chair to write, but it was different. Not bad different or good different. Just different.
These days, I think the only constants in my writing space are coffee and music. And me. As long as I can get into my own head… and heart… and other organs, as needed, I am good. Sometimes, distractions arise, but I’m usually able to work through them. Except when someone’s actually talking directly to me and I have to actually listen and respond. Ha! Most of my writing, though, happens after the kids are asleep or while they’re in school. Not as many derailments at those times.
Many writers work in silence (other than the noise in their heads). I have the head-noise, yes, but I also need music. It’s not always the same, but for weeks at a time, it might be. (I have obsessive tendencies when it comes to music.)
I have my red sofa. I have my lovely bed. I have the shower. Words find me in these places. My laptop is on my lap probably a bit too often when I’m on the sofa. I keep a small stack of notebooks and a glass of pens by the bed. And always a pad of post-it notes for the times I wake in the middle of the night and have to jot down ideas I find in my dreams immediately before my defective short-term memory loses them forever. The shower is a tad more challenging. I think of things under the water all the time. I haven’t worked out a way to write those ideas down while in progress. I usually repeat the thought in my head until I’m out and dry enough to run to paper and pen. And yes, my husband has caught me running from shower to bedside completely naked and slightly drippy.
The big suck, though, is being in my headspace to write, coffee in hand, perfect music playing, and… and… nothing. It’s the writers’ equivalent of blue balls. Not that I have any idea how that actually feels since I am a woman.
And so, dear readers and friends and followers… I have created a contact page just for you. What would you like to see me write about? Is there a sentence or phrase or even a single word that you want to share to see where I go with it? Do you want to ask me about my childhood? My overactive fantasy life? Anything. Tell me anything. As me anything. You don’t even have to use your full name… or even your real name. Contact page is here. Or, of course, comment below to your heart’s content.
~Writing 101: day 6