March 18, 2009
A Room Of My Own
(First off, my email is working again. Yay!!! And I was right, it wasn’t my software. I am now in a much better mood. It’s a little scary just how dependent I’ve become on my email. I also finished rewriting chapter 10 and half of 11 for Blood and Bone. This too has improved my mood considerably.)
So the past few weeks, three to be exact, I had set laptop up in our family room while I worked on books (of the accounts variety, blech!) and my rewrite of Blood and Bone. I had initially started working there because of my cold, but even once I was better, I continued to set everything up on my coffee table, listen to music through the satellite on the T.V. and get to work. It was convenient. I could balance inventory, rework a scene, squeeze in a load of laundry and even do some vacuuming. Hmm, why hadn’t I done this before? I even toyed with the idea of starting to work in our families computer room. After all, sitting at a desk would likely be more comfortable than on the couch, hunched over the coffee table.
Yet while this was happening, a strange sort of shift took place. The day-to-day stuff crept in and the writing started to fall away. Then last Friday, after DS had gone to bed and hubby was out, I decided to work on some new stuff since the house was quiet. But while in the family room, nothing is ever really quiet. First, the dog wanted out. (He didn’t really, he’s just playing the in/out game, but I can’t concentrate when he’s staring at me) Now, I’m in the kitchen, and since I’ll only have to let him in in another ten minutes, I might as well wait for him. The dishwasher is done, I’ll put the dishes away since I’m here. Now, that I’ve done that, and HellHound still isn’t ready to come in, I’ll just fold the clothes in dryer. Save me from having to do it tomorrow. Oh, now Hubby is home and talking to me. At least, HellHound has come in with him. After chatting with Hubby for awhile, it’s now going on eleven. I won’t be writing anything else tonight. Sigh.
The next day, as I’m tidying the house, I go up to the attic put some stuff away and I am imediately struck by the quiet. The lack of sound and the muted blue walls seem to wrap around me. Instead of hurrying off to the next thing I have to do, I drop into my desk chair. Here there is no din from the T.V., no clutter of kid and dog toys, no old newspapers, bills to be paid or school newsletters to be read. In this room there are only my things for writing, organized the way I want them. The only sound is the steady tick of my desk clock. Even the black and white photos on my desk calendar are strangely soothing. This space is entirely mine.
Needless to say, I’m writing this post from the attic. I’ve always believed that the most importnat thing for any writer–more than a fancy computer and expensive software even–is a place that they can work undisturbed, shut off from the real world, where they can lose themselves in the story. The past three weeks just sort of proved my theory, don’t you think?
Mood: Much Better
Music: None
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