Wednesday, March 14, 2007
A Room of One's Own
Many of my dear blogging writer buddies have offered a peek at their literary digs, so I'm sharing my own humble hovel. I often fantasize about that space by a real window, with just enough wall space for my inspirational paraphernalia, flanked by a wall of well-stocked bookshelves. Maybe after a few best-sellers!
In the meantime...I'll entertain the muse in my little corner of the basement. Speaking of corners...as you go around the corner, you'll find the rest of my hovel, the space where I tend to stash most of my beloved creative mess.
Believe it or not, my little sweeties respect my space. They don't mess with Mama's desk or her work table. I had to laugh when I overheard my 6-year-old reading the riot act to a playmate who had started fiddling with the little things on my desk. "OFF LIMITS...OFF LIMITS...THAT'S MAMA'S!"
Of course, what lay behind me in my little slice of literary heaven?
The guinea pig, the toy box, the air hockey table, the pile of plastic doodads that no kid can life without,...and usually a kid, sitting right in the middle of it all. For some reason, my daughter's favorite place to play is 6 inches behind my chair. She hums, sings, or recites whatever little drama she's inventing with her chunky Little People or her My Little Ponies.
So, though I love my dear little corner at the foot of the stairs, I still dream about that wonderful desk in front of a broad, windex-clean window, lovely bookshelf stuffed with every tome I could ever want or need beside me, bluetooth printer tucked away in an easy-to-reach spot, and a DOOR. A door that actually closes. A door that shuts me in with my fickle muse, where I am free to roll around on the floor or rant or curse or slap the crap out of some villain (all in the name of writing, of course). Ahhhh...yes, Virginia...there is such a place.