The New Writing Space (Secret Disco)
Cleverly disguised as the much needed ‘office’ for our business (you know, the one that’s more hassle than it’s worth?).
Over the years my ‘desk space’ has evolved from an old piece of kitchen Formica propped up on some drainage pipes (wide ones) tucked into the back of our bedroom; to a piece of oak worktop nailed to some makeshift wooden legs; to a corner computer desk (designed for desktops NOT laptops) placed at one end of our downstairs room that doubled up as a toy room. That way I could keep an eye on the babies while I wrote; to a corner in an upstairs bedroom which also doubled as the clothes drying room.
Okay, the drying room part is going to have to continue, and the cat does tend to steal the office chair for his morning sleep, but JOY — my writing corner is so much more... writey. I have a new (second hand) desk —with drawers! I’ve cleared space. I even tidied up. I shall give you a tour in a minute.
Finding an affordable desk has taken some time. Where I live there are a lot of fields, not many shops. And, quite frankly, I resent the idea of — and refuse to— paying maybe one hundred fifty euros for a crappy MDF desk, plus the twenty euros it costs in juice to go to a big enough town to find one. Where has this idea come from that we all want to pay stupid money for crap? No sir-ee. I was quite happy with my knocked-together homemade piece of crap thank you. Blue Peter eat your heart out. (By the way, said piece of crap is for sale for the bargain price of €200 — what? It’s real wood.)
Anyway, finding my desk happened (weirdly) to coincide with a blog post by Chuck Wendig, who appears to have taken my idyll and put it up in his own back yard. I took it as a sign that I should do the same, or similar.
As much as I have dreamed of one day living somewhere where I could have one of those fancy shed offices down in the garden, we just don’t have the money. Nor the garden. So much have I longed for said shed, I even once tried to convince my brother to get one as an office for his photography business instead of a costly extension that would benefit all his family. Paradise nook by proxy. And maybe I could borrow it, when I went to stay.
A new laptop to a writer is akin to a new set of decks to a DJ. A new writing space is akin to a garage or a den to spin tunes. Okay, so it’s not as exciting to everyone else, and inviting friends around while I tap off 5k words wouldn’t hold quite the same kudos as mixing it up with some serious choonage and popping on the disco lights — oh, wait. I have a spinning mushroom disco light somewhere, if I can just dig it out...
However, I’m not the only one who is impressed with the new cleaner, sleeker office look. The kids have already infiltrated it, and the cat is currently curled up on the desk top behind the computer. Mmm, must buy a padlock tomorrow, keep out the crazies.
So the tour. Okay, it’s not posh — all the furniture is second hand crap — but at least it was cheap crap! I took photos as soon as I’d sorted it out because, well, it will NEVER be this tidy again. All I need now is a cleaner who I can tell: never touch anything on my desk, and definitely not any paper, lest you wish to die!! and I will feel like a truly professional writer. Oh, and some money would be good...
You may notice there is still an element of Blue Peter style furniture in the corner. Be serious. I couldn’t stretch to new shelves as well! But I have desk drawers, and a little cupboard. A LOCKable cupboard, where I think I may keep a secret stash of cakes and biscuits. And possibly vodka. Mmm, maybe the next idyll should include a refrigerated mini-bar...
The arm chair is for those ten minute recharges (tea break). Or just to think which, unbeknownst to some, is a very important part of the writing process. Not to be translated as being a lazy-arsed daydreamer.
The bed is because we need it for when we have people stay, NOT so I can have a secret afternoon nap. The Power Rangers poster is to remind me that nonsense can make it into mainstream entertainment. Actually, I just forgot to take it down when I evicted my son into another bedroom in the house.
The big piece of paper nailed to the wall? The Plot Planner. I stare at that a lot. The post-its are the scene summaries and the bits of elastic bands (because I couldn’t find any string) show the pacing — the highs; the lows. They get rearranged quite a bit. The end scenes are missing right now because I’m having a little reorganisation.
You’re wondering about the bike, right? As my son calls it: the bike that doesn’t go anywhere? That one?
That’s the brainwave I had when admitting to myself that I needed some exercise but didn’t want to be disturbed while in the throes of creativity. I figured when in the midst of writer’s block I would peddle a few kilometres and hopefully the cork would pop. Eventually, the connection would be made in my brain that exercise = creativity and I would become super fit whilst knocking out my masterpiece. That was the theory, anyway. Now the bike that doesn’t go anywhere doesn’t even go nowhere! It serves three purposes though. It also acts as a prop for my clothes horse, and is the dividing line between dump-the-crap-over-there-and-ignore-it and nice-inviting-writing-area. Ta-daaa!
And, after now two weeks of sick child and being puked on every other day (not to mention all the chewed up mouse cat-yak in the middle of some nights too), and with the week ahead looking like more illnesses and bedclothes washing, I think I deserve a nice quite corner to call my own.
This will be where the magic happens. Just need a Teasmade now.
