The Write Space
Ummm . . . why yes. Yes, it does.
Which got me thinking (no, not about cleaning it). I thought that, in some ways, my office reflected my current state of writerhood.
You ask, “How, pray tell?”
Well, when I wear my journalistic hat, my office is well organized. Contacts, names, times, phone numbers, questions, notes, etc. My desk acquires its own form of OCD. Right now my editors are mumbling, “THANK THE LORD!”
But when I write to weave a story, my office resembles a combination of Animal House and a hyper-active scrapbooker’s paradise. It’s as if my imagination has barfed all over the space. Weirdly, everything somehow reflects my personality and who I am. Take the top of my computer for instance:
You might also notice (from the first photo) that my computer desk actually is a drafting table, set horizontally. My grandfather was a graphic artist, and since I was the only other artist in the family, I inherited all his art supplies. I thought it quite poetic to use his drafting table, where he put pen to paper, as a space where I too would craft alternate realities. I hope he sees me working late into the night at his table, and smiles.
My other desk is where my laptop normally resides (though it is currently in the hands of my daughter). It is an unmistakable Mac thanks to the Wicked Witch on the back, and was the faithful tool with which I wrote UNDERTOW. The desk itself is called a Kipling, named for the British Poet and author. I ADORE it. It is wide and deep with a beautiful dark wood color. It also tends to collect more junk that one of those people on Hoarders. When I finally get around to cleaning it off, it’s like seeing it again for the first time – a cheap form of self-inflicted gift giving of sorts, and I yell “Wow! For me? I love it!”
Anyway – this is my mad-mind space. Where be yours, matey?