I’m going to start it off by talking about Where I write. This picture on the left is my dream office. It was designed by Mary McDonald, an interior designer in Los Angeles (here’s her book, which — if you like this office — is worth checking out). I found it a couple years ago when we moved into our new house and I was going to have a real office — instead of propping my keyboard on my knees while sitting on our couch. I fell in love with the sharp black and white photos mixed with the femininity of the furniture and the fun pop of Tiffany blue. (Side note: I have no idea who would ever sit in those two chairs facing the desk. Maybe I could convince my kids to pretend that they’re very important clients.)
What’s important is that I could obviously write a best seller in this office. Right? Right.
When we moved into our house, I went to Home Depot, picked out the perfect shade of blue and immediately painted my new office.
Then I found out I was pregnant with our second child. And the dreams of my new office popped as quickly as my stomach, as I realized that Tiffany blue was now going to be the color of our new nursery.
My husband shoved my desk upstairs in our guest room, next to the Queen bed and the dresser and that’s where I spent the next few years tapping away at the keys (and where I wrote Before I Go).
Then, my daughter was finally ready for a big girl bed and my husband suggested we move her in with our oldest. “You can have your office back,” he said. I was thrilled. I was finally going to get my office! My patience had paid off! So we rearranged the furniture once again, and my husband hauled my desk back downstairs into my perfectly blue office.
So, it’s back upstairs to the guest room for me. (If my husband will move the desk again. I think he’s getting a little tired of huffing furniture around).
But after all this back and forth (and having my fantasy office dreams shattered, over and over) I’m realizing maybe I wasn’t meant to have a real office. Maybe being shoved in a corner (which, by the way, is where Stephen King still writes. I mean, not my corner. But a corner of his very-large-because-he-makes-a-gajillion-dollars McMansion) is a good reminder that it shouldn’t matter where you are physically— writing fiction is all about where you let your mind go.
And in my mind, I’m sitting in my very beautiful Mary McDonald office, writing a bestseller.
Where do you write? Do you have your own office? Is Starbucks your office? Is your dog as judge-y as mine? I’d love to hear about your writing space!