It’s ironic that the topic this month is our writing spaces since my office, pictured here, has served as everything but a writing space these past few months.
It’s primarily been my study space. It is also where I’ve worked on client writing projects and volunteer obligations.
I’ve written business correspondence, made businesses calls and taken personal ones here.
I sat here and obsessed over the fact that I wasn’t writing.
None of this, of course, constitutes actual writing.
Finally, several weeks ago I awoke with a scene from my sadly neglected work in progress dancing in my head. So that morning, for the first time in a long time, I wrote the scene that refused to be ignored and gave voice to the characters who insisted on being heard.
It was a delicious moment. The moment I realized how much I missed writing.
I missed sitting at my desk, creating characters that feel as real to me as the people I’ve known for years.
I missed creating worlds that feel as familiar as home or a favorite neighborhood.
I missed those lovely moments when everything comes together: characters, dialogue and emotion. I missed writing scenes that make me laugh or cry; sometimes simultaneously.
I realized that I needed to write. I’d forgotten that.
Today I am seated here at the behemoth of a desk that we’ve had for the past fifteen years. The one that has moved with us across town, across state lines and up several flights of stairs. The desk where I wrote both of my published novels. The desk where several others were started, but not quite finished. The desk where I plan to write many, many more.
This is my writing space.