When it comes to writing, there’s really only one place I can consistently focus and get the words down: my bed. It’s not ideal, and it doesn’t do my back any favors, but this is where I do my best thinking. Not only that, my best thinking happens between the hours of 3:45 AM and 6:00 AM. (I know. It’s weird.) Sometimes, I panic when I realize I’m going to have to write in the afternoon, because it just doesn’t feel the same, being cozy in my bed with a giant mug of hot coffee, and the rest of the world dark and sleeping.
This is my writing assistant, Teddy. He’s not very helpful, but when he’s awake, he has a lot of opinions.
I have a desk that I love, but I never sit at it. My desktop computer is great for internet searches and playing music and checking my work email. But my laptop is where I do all my drafting, all my research, and all my Deb posts. I also do a lot of writing by hand. I have a certain brand of notebook I prefer, and multi-colored Sharpies, and when I don’t know how to get started, when I’m not exactly sure what words I want to write, I turn to my notebooks and my pretty pens because that feels a lot more flexible than typing directly into my manuscript. (Also weird. I can practically hear you asking how pen and paper could possibly be less permanent than typing into a document that can be changed with a swipe of a finger. I’m comfortable not making sense to others.)
I am one of those people who love the darkening days. I love the cold weather, the biting wind, the twinkling lights on the houses on my street. I like pumpkin spice and I love it when the heater kicks on for the first time of the season.
I sometimes fantasize about turning the playroom attached to my garage into a dedicated writing space, where I can close the door and ignore the shrieks and yelling from the house as my boys throw pillows at each other or argue over the last tray of raspberries. But then I think about my early mornings, imagine myself carrying my hot mug of coffee across the frigid and dark backyard, balancing it as I try to unlock the door, and know that even if I someday convert that space to writing space, I’ll probably still write in bed.
This is an actual photo of my desk. Isn’t it pretty? It’s nice to look at, but that chair is cold at 3:45 in the morning.
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