As I sit here, thinking about what to write, I settle back into my
chair and contemplate my surroundings. Glances outside, to staring ahead inside,
helps me to realize how lucky I am to have a warm place to write.
My kitchen table is a portal to other worlds for me, forward in time,
back; my characters my own life and that of my family, sit at this table. Ahead
of me on the wall above the stove a large rooster plate lit by the light under
the fan hood. I should name that cock because like Mary’s picture on the bed in
Under the Tuscan Sun, my kitchen-kock
watches over me.
I am safe here and warm and all around me are things to spur me along, people
to support my muse and a wealth of memories as grist.
I can write anywhere, with almost any amount of chaos swirling around
me, but if I’m here, at this table, ass in this chair, with indoor plumbing
only a room away, my journey is easier and more comfortable.
For someone who talks too much and doesn’t ask enough, a question,
where best do you write?
4 comments:
I think I do best in my own house. No music or anything, although if the kids are behaving, them playing doesn't bother me. I sit at my kitchen table and type on my nine-year-old laptop. The screen light is broken, so it is dim and harder to see, but I'm used to it and it works.
I've recently tried writing at school during one of my free periods, but it's hard. There are too many other things that can come up or demand my attention. Of course, I do have a big closet in my classroom...maybe I'll sit in there so it looks like I'm not around to interrupt :)
Jennine, a whole new meaning to coming out of the closet, ha ha ha.
Haha! Exactly! Making a proclamation here!
When I am alone and it's daylight and occasionally in the eve I sit at my computer in the living room. There is a rumor I may have a warm room all to myself to tickle the keys on my board. Waiting, waiting, waiting.
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