Nonfiction vs Fiction — A Writing Space
Above is the wall in our guest bedroom, formerly known as the grandkids’ room, where my office resides, and where I write — most of the time. The available desk space is small, which isn’t a problem since I write almost entirely on the computer. It’s not neat but neat enough. The walls are decorated mostly with artwork from the grandchildren, of course.
I also write during breaks at the only client’s office where I work daily. That desk looks surprisingly similar to my home space but with only one monitor.
I carry a notebook in my purse but rarely use it. Maybe a note now and again, reminders of what to write later when my fingers rest on a keyboard.
I think about writing in coffee shops and parks but never do.
Real life is distracting — people coming and going, piped music that I didn’t choose, cappuccino machines sputtering, air conditioning that is always too cold, hard park benches, dogs peeing on trees.
I also write here:
Our bed is my phone-writing space. I lay here after walking dogs early in the morning while Ben prepares breakfast and at night before falling asleep, and I read and comment on Medium.
A phone isn’t the best writing device, so I limit my phone-writing to responses to the works of others and notes about what I want to compose later.
This is the place I dream of writing but rarely do:
When we bought our townhome with its screened back porch looking out to the lake, I imagined myself sitting in this rocker, laptop propped up on my knees, typing away. That almost never happens. Why? My laptop is less comfortable for writing than my desktop PC, and, I am spoiled by my two monitors.
Still, my intention is to write on my porch — someday.
I think of myself as an adventurous writer, scrawling when and wherever the inspiration strikes.
But, I’m not adventurous.
I like structure. I like a desk and two monitors. Air-conditioning. Heat during our few winter months. A glass of wine. A nearby bathroom. Maybe some bourbon. Dogs at my feet. Cat on my lap.
