If I Only Had an Office
I’m a new writer of Contemporary Romances. I’m not famous. Unless you’re my Mom or a good friend, you won’t have heard my name. Yet. So, I don’t have a fancy, shmancy office. Or even a room with a door. I have a dining room table.
We’re not very formal, so my dining room table is used for other things. Like writing. And throwing anything you don’t know where else to put. It’s the first room inside the front door, so my kids (and husband) tend to toss things on it as they come home. Things like: mail, keys, books, schoolbags, etc. There’s also an odd collection of cords. I have no idea to or for what though. Apparently, neither does anyone else, as the cords remain on the table.
I have claimed the end near the wall as my personal kingdom. That’s where my laptop lives. When I’m not writing at Panera because of the noise level here. I did invest in a great chair. It’s black and leather (well leather-like), and it swivels. This is necessary for the flowing of creative juices.
In the corner, I have a book shelf with four levels. Everything I might ever need for writing is crammed there. Everything. There’s a printer, paper for the printer, extra ink cartridges, reference books, bits of swag, etc. Three of the shelves have decorative baskets on them. God only knows what’s in those. I’m kind of afraid to look.
The best thing about my office is that it’s connected to the kitchen. And an endless supply of caffeine and junk food; both of which are needed for the ‘creative process.’ I know that diet soda is bad for you. I can read. But, I am addicted to Diet Mt. Dew. I don’t see that changing any time soon.
The windows are the second-best thing. I love natural light. I do my best writing during the daytime hours. Unless of course, I worked the night before. Then, not so much.
Someday, I would like a proper office. One that had a door. That could be closed. And locked. My husband works from home. Need I say more??? He’s forever on endless conference calls. I respect that, but he will come in, as I’m typing, and ask me what I’m doing. Really?
My perfect office will also have soundproof walls. And a moat. Then, maybe, I’ll get to write without interruption.