A Writer's Home
Close your eyes, and picture yourself writing… where are you?
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Close your eyes, and picture yourself writing… where are you?
When I close my eyes and allow myself to paint a perfect picture, I see a large wooden desk. My desk is imperfect, the surface is uneven and is scattered with small stains and pen marks. On top of the desk are piles of notebooks, books, and pen pots. I have fresh flowers, and a coaster with a fresh cup of tea, gently steaming. I sit back in a comfy chair with a cushion tucked into the small of my back. My computer screen before me, with multiple tabs open with endless inspiration offered in each. My notebook is open, and my pen glides across the page as the words fall from my mind and land on each inviting line. On the other side of the window, the gentle hum of the outside world, a breeze shakes the leaves in the nearby tree, and sunshine teases from behind the clouds. A candle flickers in the corner or my eye, and a delicate scent fills the room.
Oh, how I wish this was my writing space… it is not.